PSYCHOLOGIC ATTEACTION, 

FASCINATION, 

%timtt 




AS APPLIED to the PUKPOSES OF LIFE, with fall 

instructions to exert the influence upon the Human 

Mind as well as the brute creation ; being the 

suhstance of two lectures delivered in 

St. James Hall, London, by 

HERBERT HAMILTON, B. A. 

M 

Author of " Natural Forces," " Principles of Science," 
"Chemical Eesearches," etc. 



A CURIOUS BOOK FOR CURIOUS PEOPLE. 



USEFUL AND INTERESTING MISCELLANY. 



MULTUM IN PARm— 

FIRST EDITION. 



PHILADELPHIA : 
PUBLISHED BY T. W. EYAJN^S & CO., 
1869. ' , 



^v 



^ 



.^-^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S69, 

By T. W. EVANS & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United 
States, in and for the Eastern District of Penn'a. 



OOISTTEISTTS. 

PAGE. 

Preface 5 

Psychological Inquiries 5 

Psychological Attraction 47 

My Side of the Scory 73 

The Lumley Tragedy ; and what became of the 

Principal Actor 87 

The Drawing-Master's Story 98 

The Etiquette of Courtship and Marriage 115 

The True Version of the Story of Blue Beard 128 

Esryptian Oracle 131 

A^Tale of Love 132 

A Wedding Night-Shirt 133 

Dreams 13-^ 

My Horse Trade 141 

Choosing for Life 146 

Young Men 147 

Happy Hints to Ladies 151 

Characteristics of Cities. 154 

A Fortunate Kiss 154 

Precious Stones 156 

Three and Seven 163 

Velocipedology 165 

An Adventure with a Shark 171 

The Doorstep 174 

Troubles from Trifles 175 

Black Diamonds 176 

Valley of Jehosaphat 177 

Hasheesh 178 

Female Poisoners 179 

Sleighing with a Girl 183 

How Jimmy got the Mitten 183 

A Cat Charmed by a Snake 184 

A Word for Wives 184 

Divination by Cards 185 

St. Koch 187 

Taking the Chances 199 

A Modern Samson 199 

To the Atheist 200 

Love's Belief 201 

Who Ate Roger Williams 2i)2 

Miss Nightingale on Nursing 203 

Two Sharpers 205 

Care of Teeth 206 

The Anniversary Present 206 

Working and Waiting 211 

A Favorite of Fortune 213 

Early Rising 213 

3 



4 CONTliNTS. 

PAGB, 

Tom Toodle's Facts relative to Dogs 214 

Clothing .'. 215 

A Dilemma 216 

The Metal-Fouuder of Manich 216 

The Star and the Water-Lily 220 

Loss and Luck; Or, The Master-Passion 221 

The Deserted Hiit, and what 1 saw there 228 

The Fairy Qaeen 237 

Among Sharps 247 

Magnitude of the Universe 2o4 

On an Umbrella 255 

Plan(;hette 256 

The I'irst Doctor 257 

Little Women 258 

Now! 260 

Omeiis 264 

Jenkiu 268 

The Wandering Jew 271 

The Ideal Woman of Middle Age 274 

Three Brave Men 276 

Love a Giver 2S0 

Too Many Beaux 286 

My Treasures ^... 2S7 

The Alchemists 2SS 

Who are Gentlemen ; 290 

The Three Crimes 292 

The Mysterious Bobberies ". 296 

Beauty 301 

A Duel or a Wedding 303 

Honor your Business 30.0 

Gardening for Profit 310 

The Luur 316 

"Home, Sweet Home" 32i 

Popular Proverbs 326 

Helen's Good Work 328 

Catharine 335 

Adventure with the 'iVolves 360 

Sheet Lightning 362 

Flowers 363 

The Family 364 

A Good wife 367 

The Tale of a Traveller 268 

Mature Sirens 373 

Adventure with a Cobra 379 

Bingham Young's Harem 381 

The Physician's Love 3S3 

A California Yarn 388 

Geology and the Creation 390 

From Shore to Shore 390 



PREFACE. 

Befoeb proceeding with the subject of Psy- 
chologic Attraction, &c., I am desirous that my 
readers shall become familiar with the meaning, 
phases, and signiiQcance of the term " Psy- 
chology," as applicable to the mental faculties ; 
to illustrate which, I annex the following criti- 
cism from Eraser's Magazine, of a book called 
"Psychological Inquiries, in a sei'ies of Essays, 
intended to illustrate the Mutual Relations of the 
Physical Organization and Mental Faculties." 
Published by Longman, Brown, Green & 
Longmans, London. It will be observed that 
the work criticized deals only with abstract 
theories ; while my effort is to apply Psychol- 
ogy to the practical purposes of life, so as to 
benefit the community at large. 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

KNOW THYSELF, said the wise Grecian-— 
a simple but significant form of words, worthy, 
from its pregnant brevity, of the place which it 
occupied over the portico of the Delphic temple. 
Self-lvnow ledge is the first step towards the at- 
tainment of that greatest of all sciences — the 
science of human nature ; and the mutual re- 
lations of the physical organization and the 
mental faculties form a problem which must 
be solved, so far as it is capable of solution, at 
the very threshold of the investigation. 

"Some points may be considered as estab- 
lished with a sufficient degree of certainty ; there 
are others as to which opinions may reasonably 
differ ; while there is still a greater number of 

5 



6 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES, 

others as to wliicli we must be content to 
acknowledge that, with our limited capacities, 
we have no means of forming an opinion at all." 

When we read the last sentence, extracted 
from the advertisement of the valuable book 
before us, we felt satisfied that the volume Avas 
the production of no ordinary mind, but that 
it proceeded from a writer fullj' aware of the 
great difficulties of his subject, and honestly- 
confessing them. Every succeeding page satis- 
fied us that the author had brought to his in- 
teresting task talents and experience of no 
common order. 

With every wish to respect the feelings 
which induce an author to conceal his name, 
we could not long hesitate, in this case, before 
we pronounced it aloud in our solitary study. 
The mask is worn very loosely. We think we 
do know the fine Roman initial subscribed to 
the " Advertisemeni" aforesaid, and can trace 
the able hand that guided the pen, and that 
has relieved so much human suffering, as be- 
longing to one long in the front rank of sur- 
gical science, and now the foremost man 
among the helpers of men. 

This searching treatise is in the form of dia- 
logue ; and, in our opinion, is one of the best 
published in that form since the appearance 
of the late Sir Humphrey Davy's Consolations 
in Travel. You soon discover whether a 
supply comes from a stream or a tank ; and it 
is quite refreshing in these reservoir- days to 
find yourself in thie presence of a fountain clear 
and sparkling as that of Blandusia. None 
could have written well on this intricate sub- 
ject without great knowledge of disease and 
of mankind ; and none could have been better 
qualified to discuss it than "B. C. B." 

The plan of the work is this : Ergates and 
Crites go down at that season when'members 
of parliament begin to live for themselves, and 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 7 

grouse to die, as visitors to tlieir friend Eubulus, 
who bad retired from active life to a property 
which he possessed at the distance of a hun- 
dred miles from the metropolis. But Ergates 
shall describe it : — ■ 

" Our friend's house had been built in the 
seventeenth century, and like many country 
houses of that date, was in a low situation, 
with a very limited prospect. But this defect 
was compensated by the beauty of the sur- 
roundins: country, which e:xhibited all that 
variety of picturesque scenery which, a varied 
geological structure usually affords. On one 
side were steep and lofty chalk hills, covered 
by a scanty herbage, and dotted with yews and 
junipers. On another side was a still loftier 
bill, but of a more gradual elevation, composed 
of sand with a thin soil over it, and covered 
with heath, with some clumps of Scotch firs 
scattered here and there. In the intermediate 
valley there were fields and meadows, with 
stubble and green pasture, and intersected by a 
stream of water; while at tlie foot of the chalk 
hills, and at no great distance from the house, 
there was an extensive beech, wood, which, 
from the absence of underwood, and the magni- 
tude and height of the trees, with their branches 
mingling above, might be compared to an enor- 
mous cathedral, with its columns, and arches, 
and ' dim religious light.' " 

To a congratulation on the luxurious '* per- 
fect leisure" enjoyed by the master of the 
house, he acknowledges, in reply, that he has 
reason to begrateful for many blessings. *' But 
do not," says he, " speak of perfect leisure as 
one of them." To a mind of any activity, idle- 
ness is terribl)'^ hard labor. Even to those who 
have been brought up in that listless condition, 
a life of leisure is, as Eubulus truly observes, 
bad enough. When a man is idle, we know 
what personage is on the watch ready to set him 



8 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

to wovk ; nor can we imagine a more useless or 
a more wretched being than a man without 
business, or profession, arts, sciences, or ex- 
ercises. 

But if, observes Eubulus to Ergates, a life of 
leisure be painful to persons who have been 
brought up in idleness — 

" What must it be to one like you or me, who 
have advanced beyond the middle period of life, 
without having had any experience of it ? This 
is no speculative inquiry ; it may be answered 
from actual observation. Not a few persons 
who abandon their employments under the 
impression that they will be happy in doing so, 
actually die of ennui. It induces bodily dis- 
ease more than physical or mental labor. 
Others, indeed, survive the ordeal. But, where 
the body does not suffer, the mind often does. 
I have known instances of persons whose 
habits have been suddenly changed from those 
of great activity to those of no emploj'ment at 
all, who have been for a time in a state of 
mental excitement or hypochondriasis, border- 
ing on mental aberration. Moreover, it is with 
the mind as it is with the body — it is spoiled 
from want of use ; and the clever and intelli- 
gent young man, who sits doAvn to lead what is 
called a life of leisure, invariably becomes a 
stupid old man." 

Truer words were never written. Even the 
retired tallow-chandler begged, in his despair, 
to be allowed to revisit the establishment which 
he had left, on melting days, and derived some 
consolation from the permission— such conso- 
lation as a ghost may be supposed to derive 
from haunting the scene of its former pleasures. 
But, even refined pursuits will pall on the in- 
tellectual palate. Study, drawing, music, 
writing, soon lose their zest: "one cannot 
always be dancing, nowther," as the boatswain 
said. No, there must be some peremptory 
occupation ; something that is your master, to 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 9 

give relish to the holiday : 11 fcmt cuUiver 
noire jardin. 

Eubulus, after noticing the pastimes to 
which the cabbage-planting Diocletian and the 
self-flagellating Charles the Fifth were reduced, 
thus continues : — 

" But I suspect that, in spite of his mis- 
fortunes, Lord Bacon was not altogether un- 
happy while engaged in completing his philo- 
sophical works ; and I cannot doubt that he 
was much less so than he would have been if he 
had shared the occupations and amusements of 
the Emperors." 

To this, Crites objects that Lord Bacon could 
not have been wholly and entirely occupied iu 
the way mentioned, but that he must still have 
had many hours of leisure on his hands; and 
Eubulus replies : 

" That is true. A man in a profession may 
be engaged in professional matters for twelve 
or fourteen hours daily, and suffer no very 
great inconvenience beyond that which may be 
traced to bodily fatigue. The greater part of 
what he has to do (at least it is so after a certain 
amount of experience) is nearly the same as 
that which he has done many times before, and 
becomes almost matter of course. He uses not 
only his previous knowledge of facts, or his 
simple experience, but his previous thoughts, 
and the conclusions at which he had arrived 
formerly ; and it is only at intervals that he is 
called upon to make any considerable mental 
exertion. But at every step in the composition 
of his philosophical woi'ks Lord Bacon had to 
think ; and no one can be engaged in that which 
requires a sustained effort of thought for more 
than a very limited portion of the twenty-four 
hours. Such an amount of that kind of occu- 
pation must have been quite sufficient, even for 
so powerful a mind as that of Lord Bacon. 
Mental relaxation after severe mental exertion 



10 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

is Bot less agreeable than bodily repose after 
bodily labor. A few hours of bona fide mental 
labor will exhaust the craving for active em- 
ployment, and will leave the mind in a state in 
which the subsequent leisure (which is not 
necessarily mere idleness) will be as agreeable 
as it would have been irksome and painful 
otherwise." 

We have heard physiologists, speaking on 
the labor of thought, declare that every effort 
consumed — burued, as it were — a portion of 
the vigor of the brain ; and that where the 
mental labor has been long and excessive, the 
nervous fluid of the over-worked organ has 
been deteriorated, and, in aggravated cases, ut- 
terly impoverished. 

To an inquiry by Crites, what limits may be 
placed to exertion of the kind above alluded to, 
Eubulus refers to the impofsibility of layiug 
down rules in that respect more than for the 
body ; so much must depend on the original 
powers of the mind, the physical condition of 
the individual, and his previous early training ; 
but he instances Cuvier as having been usually 
engaged for seven hours daiiy, in his scientific 
researches, these not Laving been of a nature 
to require continuous thop^bt : and Sir Walter 
Scott as having devoted about six hours daily 
to literary composition, and then his mind was 
in a state to enjoy lighter pursuits afterwards. 
When, however, after his misfortunes, he 
allowed himself no relaxation, there can be 
little doubt, as Eubulus observes, that his over- 
exertion contributed, as much as the moral 
Buffering he endured, to the production of the 
disease of the brain which ultimately caused 
his death. 

One day, when he was thus exerting himself 
beyond his powers, Sir Walter said to Captain 
Basil Hall, who also suffered and died from 
disease in the brain, — 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. II 

" How many hours can you work ?" " Six," 
answered the captain. "But, can't you put 
on the spurs?" "If I do, the horse won't go." 
"So much tlie better for you," said Scott, with 
a sigh. " When I put on the spurs, the horse 
will go well enough ; but it is killing the horse." 

The whole of the observations on the limits 
of mental exertion, the source of mental fatigue, 
and on the imagination in waking and in sleep, 
are most instructive. Take this illustration of 
the difference between attention and thinking : 

" Mere attention is an act of volition. Think- 
ing implies more than this, and a still greater 
and more constant exercise of volition. It is 
with the mind as it is with the body. When 
the volition is exercised, there is fatigue ; there 
is none otherwise ; and in proportion as the 
will is more exercised, so is the fatigue greater. 
The muscle of the heart acts sixty or seventy 
times in a minute, and the muscles of respira- 
tion act eighteen or twenty times in a minute, 
for seventy or eighty, or in some rare instances, 
even for a hundred successive years ; but there 
is no feeling of fatigue. The same amount of 
muscular exertion under the influence of voli- 
tion, induces fatigue in a few hours. I am re- 
freshed by a few hours' sleep. I believe that I 
seldom , if ever, sleep without dreaming. But in 
sleep there is a suspension of volition. If there 
be occasions on which I do not enjoy the full 
and complete benefit of sleep, it is when my 
sleep is imperfect ; when my dreams are be- 
tween waking and sleeping, and a certain 
amount of volition may be supposed to be mixed 
up with the phantoms of the imagination." 

When awake, we can arrest the current of 
imagination, uuless we indulge in one of those 
reveries or waking dreams, when we give the 
reins to our imagination, and build or visit our 
castles in Spain ; and even then we do not lose 
all control. But in the ordinary waking state — 



12 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

" Our minds are so constructed that we can 
keep the attention fixed on a particular object 
until we have, as it were, looked all around it ; 
and the mind that possesses this faculty in the 
greatest degree of perfection, will take cogni- 
zance of relations of which another mind has no 
perception. It is this, much more than any 
difference in the abstract power of reasoning, 
which constitutes the vast difference which 
exists between the minds of different individu- 
als. This is the history alike of the poetic 
genius and of the genius of discovery in science. 
*■! keep the subject,' said Sir Isaac Newton, 
' constantly before me, and wait until the first 
dawnings open by little and little into a full 
light.' It was thus that, after long meditation, 
he was led to the invention of fluxions, and to 
the anticipation of the modern discovery of the 
combustibility of the diamond. It was thus 
that Harvey discovered the circulation of the 
blood, and that those views were sugsrested to 
Davy which are propounded in the" Bakerian 
lecture of 1806, and which laid the foundation 
of that grand series of experimental researches 
which terminated in the decomposition of the 
earths and alkalies." 

And it was thus that Owen arrived at the 
conception of the archetype, and those views 
which are working an entire change in anatom- 
ical teaching. 

Those dreams in which conversations or ar- 
guments are held with other persons, v/hen the 
dreamer must invent the arguments used against 
himself, without being aware that he has done 
so, naturally lead to the consideration of Dr. 
Wigan's somewhat ponderous but very ingen- 
ious volume. On the Duality of the Mind (lS4i), 
published to prove that each hemisphere of ihe 
cerebrum has a separate mind, and that on such 
occasions the two hemispheres might be con- 
sidered as conversing with each other — a cap- 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 13 

tivating theory, which we have heard supported 
by some who had read the book, and declared 
that they felt, especially in determining some 
difficult question where the pros and cons were 
nearly balanced, conscious of two antagonistic 
internal powers, each advocating, as it were, 
opposite sides of the question. But they were 
obliged to confess that they ultimately decided 
the question ; and Avhen reminded that there 
must then have been a third mental power to 
give judgment after weighing the opposite ar- 
guments, if the theory were well founded, 
acknowledged the force of the observation, and 
thereafter valued the Doctor's work more for 
the many curious illustrations of mental phe- 
nomena therein contained than for the conclu- 
sion extracted from them. No, we agree with 
Eubulus in thinking that Pere Buffier has dis- 
posed of this heresy, and clearly made out " the 
oneness and individuality of the mind." 

And so the dialogue proceeds, gradually 
attaining to "thoughts more elevate," without 
ever losing sight of the fact that man is an ani- 
mal ; though we could mention an author of no 
mean attainments, who wrote a system of 
zoology and left the plumeless biped out, con- 
sidering him altogether as a superior being, 
who was not to be degraded to a place in it. 

The iofluence of enthusiasts and crazy fanat- 
ics over the masses is well touched. There are 
"epidemics of opinion." as well as of disease, 
and it is, indeed, a melancholy fact that a 
great extension of education and knowledge 
does not produce any corresponding improve- 
ment in this respect. A half-madman could 
set on foot a moral epidemic, and lead a mob to 
destroy Newgate, gut the houses of the most 
intellectual and elevated persons, and nearly 
burn down London. Such moral epidemics 
are more destructive in their way than typhus, 
small-pox, or the much dreaded cholera. But 



14 PSTCnOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

let -not the age of table-turning and spirit 
rapping smile at the dupes of Peter tlie Hermit, 
Lord George Gordon, Joanna Southcote — her- 
self, we verily believe, the dupe of her own 
imagination — and Joe Smith. Without giviug 
any opinion on the subject, we may at least 
observe that the subscribers to the Mesmeric 
Hospital have no right to curl the lip at the 
sympatlietic powder of Sir Kenelm Digby. 

Upon the subject of Education we entirely 
agree with Eubulus. Crites asks — 

*' But does not what you have now stated tend 
to show that there is some defect in modern 
education ? Might it not do more than it does 
towards the improvement of the reasoning fac- 
ulty? 

^'^Eubulus. — I doubt it. Education does a 
great deal. It imparts knowledge, and gives 
the individual worthy objects of contemplation 
for the remainder of his life. It strengthens 
his power of attention ; and such is especially 
the case Avith the study of mathematics ; and in 
doing so it cannot fail, to a certain extent, to 
assist the judgment. Still, it seems to me, that 
to reason well is the result of an instinct orig- 
inally implanted in us, rather than of instruc- 
tion ; and that a child or a peasant reasons quite 
as accurately on the thing before him and with- 
in the sphere of his knowledge as th-ise who 
are versed in all the rules of logic. With regard 
even to mathematics, I much doubt whether 
they tend to improve the judgment on those 
subjects to which they are not immediately ap- 
plicable." 

Without going so far as Dugald Stewart, who 
observes, that in the course of his own experi- 
ence, he had never met with a mere mathemati- 
cian who was not credulous to a fault, not only 
with respect to human testimony, but also in 
matters of opinion, we think that there is a 
great deal of truth in the observation. To say 



PSTCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 15 

nothing of Sir Isaac Newton and others, whose 
minds, powerful as they were, were prone to 
credulity, we could name one of the ablest 
mathematicians of the day, who is said to be- 
lieve that he can communicate with disem- 
bodied spirits. Eubulus well explains this 
somewhat startling phenomenon : 

" The principal errors of reasoning on all 
subjects beyond the pale of the exact sciences 
arise from our looking only on one side, or too 
exclusively on one side, of the question. But 
in mathematics there is no alternative. It has 
nothing to do with degrees of probability. The 
truth can be on one side only, and we arrive at 
a conclusion about which there is no possibility 
of doubt, or at none at all. In making these ob- 
servations, however, do not suppose that I do 
not sufficiently estimate this most marvellous 
science, which, from the simplest data, has 
been made to grow up into what it now is by 
the mere force of the human intellect ; the truth 
of which would have been the same if Heaven 
and Earth had never existed ; would be the 
same still if they were now to pass away ; and 
by means of which those branches of knowl- 
edge to which it is applicable have been 
brought to a state of perfection which others 
can never be expected to attain." 

Nothing can be more fairly put than the 
following, which we recommend to the especial 
attention of parents and guardians : — 

"A high education is a leveller, which, while 
it tends to improve ordinary minds, and to turn 
idleness into industry, may in some instances 
have the effect of preventing the full expansion 
of genius. The great amount of acquirement 
rendered necessary by the higher class of exam- 
inations, as they are now conducted, not only in 
the universities, but in some other institutions, 
while it strengthens the poAver of learning, is by- 
no means favorable to the higher faculty of re- 
flection. But it must be borne in mind that in 



16 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

this worlcl none of onr schemes are perfect, and 
that in all human aflfairs we mnst be content to 
do that which is best on the whole. Geninses 
are rare exceptions to the general rule ; and a 
mode of education which might be well adapted 
to the few who think for themselves, would be 
ruinous to the unreflecting majority. As to 
making one system of education for one class 
of minds, and" another for another, there are, if 
I may be allowed to use a metaphorical expres- 
sion, mechanical diflSiculties in the way. Besides, 
who is to know what a boy's mind is, or what 
is his peculiar turn, until the greater part of his 
education is completed ?" 

No doubt the S3^stera pursued at our univer- 
sities, narrow as it still remains, is good train- 
ing for the business of life; and we may point to 
worthies high in the state and in the law who 
have borne away the brightest honors of the uni- 
versities of which they are ornaments; we could 
also indicate brilliant examples in the same de- 
.partments, who never shone till they appeared 
in their proper sphere. But how many senior 
wranglers and first-class men who went 
up like rockets have been as speedily extin- 
guished, or pass unheeded in the by-ways of 
fame. Eubulus refers to Sir Walter Scott's 
observation, that " the best part of every man's 
education is that which 'he gave himself." — 
True, Thomas never spoke more tritly — and Sir 
Humphrey Davy and John Hunter are brought 
forward as examples of men whose faculties 
might have been cramped and deranged, rather 
than improved by a more systematic education. 
It has been our privilege, and a great privilege 
it was, and still is, to have lived, and to be 
living, on intimate terms with some of the first 
philosophers, literary men, engineers, and 
artists of our time. The first among these have 
owed their high position to little or no extrinsic 
assistance. Like Davy and John Hunter, what 
they were, they made themselves. 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 17 

Crites, indeed, cannot altogether agree witb 
Eubulus, thoiio-h he does so to a great extent ; 
but he comforts himself with the prospect of 
the changes as to education now in progress in 
this conntry, of which the principal result will 
be the introduction of new branches of study 
into our schools and colleges ; so that those 
who have it not in their power to excel in one 
thing, will find that they may, nevertheless, 
excel in another. 

The second dialogue ascends to the more 
ambitions inquiry into the nature of mind and 
matter, considers natural theology, and gives 
reasons for regarding the mental principle as 
distinct from organization. It is urged that 
the influence of the one on the other is not suf- 
ficiently regarded by metaphysicians. 

" When (says Crites) the materialist argues 
that we know nothing of mind except as being 
dependant on material organization, I turn his 
argument against himself, and say that the ex- 
istence of my own mind is the only thing of 
which I have any actual and indubitable knowl- 
edge." 

By far the most interesting porlion of this 
dialogue is applied to the relations of the ner- 
vous system to the mental faculties ; and here 
the practical knowledge and great experience 
of Ergates come into play. He gives several 
remarkable examples, and" observes, that from 
them it seems to be a legitimate conclusion that 
the nervous system is instrumental in pro- 
ducing the phenomena of memory as well as 
those of sensation.; and that memory resides 
not in every part of the nervous system, but in 
the brain. This faculty, he adds, is injured by 
a blow on the head, or a disease affecting the 
brain ; but not by an injury of the spine, or a 
disease of the spinal cord. 

" The eyes mny be amaurotic, but Milton and 
Huber retained the memory of objects whicli 



18 PSYCHOLOGICAL IKQUIRIES. 

they had seen previous to theii- blindness. It is 
not the spinal cord, nor the nerves, nor the 
eye, nor tlie ear, but the brain, which is the 
storehouse of past sensations, by referring^ to 
Avhich the mind is enabled to renew its acqiiain- 
tance with events which are passed, and at the 
same time to obtain the means of anticiiDatin_^, 
to a great extent, the events which are to 
come." 

Here are one or two Interesting examples of 
the disturbance of memory by a blow on the 
head, or a disease affecting the braio, the other 
functions remaining unimpaired : — 

"A groom in tljie service of the Prince Regent 
was cleaning one of some horses sent as a pres- 
ent to his Royal Highness by the Shah of Per- 
sia. It was a vicious animal, and he kicked the 
groom on the head. He did not fall, nor was 
he at all stunned or insensible ; but he entirely 
forgot what he had been doing at the moment 
when the blow was inflicted. There was an in- 
terval of time, as it were, blotted out of his 
recollection. Not being able to account for it, 
he supposed that he had been asleep, and said so 
to his fellow-servants, observing at the same 
time, that he must set to work to clean the 
horse, which he had neglected to clean in con- 
sequence of having fallen asleep, 

Again : — 

"A young man was thrown from his horse in 
hunting ; he was stunned, but only for a few 
minutes; then recovered, and rode home in 
company with his friends, twelve or thirteen 
miles, talking with them as usnal. On the fol- 
lowing day he had forgotten not only the acci- 
dent itself, but all that happened afterwards." 

In this last case, the etiect of the blow was 
not only to erase from the memory the events 
which immediately preceded the fall, but also 
to preA'Cut the retention of the impression of 
those events which immediately followed the 
accident. 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 19 

Then, as to the loss or impaired stren2:th of 
the faculty after fever or some other bodily ail- 
ment, we are presented with the following 
interesting cases ;— 

"A gentleman fonnd that he had lost the 
power of vision in one eye. Then he regained 
it partially in that eye, but lost it in the "other. 
Afterwards he partially regained it in the eye 
last affected. He could now see objects when 
placed in certain positions, so that the image 
might fall on particular parts of the retina, 
wliile he was still unable to see them in other 
positions. These facts sufficiently prove the 
existence of some actual disease. But observe 
what happened besides : his memory was affec- 
ted as well as his sense of sight. Although in 
looking at a book he recognized the letters of 
the alphabet, he forgot what they spelled, and 
was under the necessity of learning again to 
read. Nevertheless, he knew his family and 
friends ; and his judgment, when the facts were 
clear in his mind, was perfect." 

The next example is equally striking, if not 
more remarkable : — 

"In another case, a gentleman who had two 
years previously suffered from a stroke of apo- 
plexy (but recovered from it afterwards) was 
suddenly deprived of sensation on one side of 
his body. At the same tirrie he lost the power, 
not only of expressing himself in intelligible 
language, but also that of comprehending what 
was said to him by others. He spoke what 
might be called gibberisJi, and it seemed to him 
that his friends spoke gibberisJi in return. But 
■while his memory as to oral language was thus 
affected, as to written language it was not 
affected at all. If a letter was read to him, it 
conveyed no ideas to his mind ; but when he 
had it in his own hand, and read it himself, he 
understood it perfectly. After some time he 
recovered of this attack, as he had done of that 



20 • PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

of apoplexy fomierly. He had another similar 
attack afterwards." 

With reference to the organ of speech, what- 
ever that or its components may be, the case of 
a boy about five years old is referred to. The' 
faculty of speech was, in this child, limited to 
the use of the word pajja — a sound so simple 
that dolls are made by very simp!e mechanism 
to produce it distinctly. Erirates soon ascer- 
tained that the sense of hearius; was perfect, 
and that there was no malformation of the soft 
palate, mouth, and lips. Inclination to speak 
was not wanting, but the attempt produced 
wholly inarticulate sounds. Yet there was no 
deiiciency in the boy's powers of apprehension 
— nay, he seemed to be beyond the generality 
of children of the same age in this respect. He 
perfectly understood what was said to him by 
others, and answered by signs and gestures, 
and would spell with counters monosyllabic 
words which he could not utter. Tiie external 
senses and locomotive powers were perfect, and 
all the animal functions properly performed. 
The onl)' other manifestation of disease or im- 
perfection of the nervous system was that, for 
two or three years before Ergates saw him, he 
had been subject to fits or nervous attacks, at- 
tended with convulsions, but which his pro- 
vincial medical attendant regarded as having 
the character of hysteria rather than of epilepsy. 
Ergates was informed that eight years after- 
wards the boy could not speak, though he had 
made great progress otherwise ; and that among 
other acquisitions, he wrote beautifully, and 
was a very clever arithmetician. 

The case of a girl is also recorded. When 
Ergates saw her, she was eleven years of age, 
with no faculty of speech, uttering merely some 
inarticulate sounds, which her parents in some 
degree understood, but which were wholly un- 
intelligible to others. Here, again, the sense of 



rSTCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 21 

hearing was perfect; and there was no defect 
in the formation of the external ornrans. A 
careful examination satisfied the observer that 
the parents were correct in their statement that 
she comprehended all that was said to her. 
Perfectly tractable and obedient, she did not 
differ either in appearance or general behavior 
from other intelliij;ent children. Little trouble 
had been taken with her education, for she was 
in humble life ; but when a book which she had 
never seen previously was placed before her, 
and she was desired to point out different let- 
ters, she did so readily and accurately, making 
no mistakes. Now, in this case, there had 
been no suffering from fits, no indications of 
cerebral disease, or other physical imperfection. 
As she was when Ergates saw her, the parents 
said she had been from the earliest age ; equally 
intelligent, but incapable of speech. 

In this case there was probably some latent 
defect in the nervous system. We agree with 
Ergates in thinking that the best writers on 
the philosophy of the mind have erred in con- 
sidering it too abstractedly ; not taking suffi- 
ciently into account the physical influences to 
which it is subjected. There are not wanting 
shrewd reasoners who consider that Schelling, 
Fichte, Cousin, and others of that school of 
mental science, have perverted psychology as 
completely, and perhaps more perniciously, 
than the Materialists. Descrates, Hartley, 
and that clever but somewhat"fantastic Uni- 
versalist. Dr. Hoolc, did take the physical in- 
fluences into consideration. Doctors Reid and 
Berkeley, who, as Crites observes, were cer- 
tainly anything but Materialists, considered 
them deeply. The inquiry of the first of th« 
two last-named into the human mind, is founded 
on a searching examination of the senses ; 
and the germ of Dr. Berkeley's metaphysical 
investigations is contained in his essay on the 
corporeal function of vision. 



-i 



22 PSTCHOLOGICAL INQUIUIES. 

An inquiry into the structure and condition 
of the seusorium in man and the lower ani- 
mals thus becomes of great importance. We 
have seldom seen a more correct view of this 
most important part of the subject than that 
laid before the reader by Ergates, who sets 
out by safely assuming, as an established fact, 
that it is only througli the instrumentality of 
the central parts of the nervous system that 
the mind maintains its communication with the 
external world. The eye, the ear, and all the 
other organs of sense, are necessary communi- 
cants ; but it cannot be denied, that the eye 
does not see, and that the ear does not hear; 
for however perfect those organs may be, if 
the nerve which forms the communication be- 
tween any one organ of sense and the brain 
be divided, the corresponding sense is des- 
troyed. On the other hand, all the impulses 
by which the mind influences the phenomena 
of the external world, proceed from the brain. 
Divide the nerves which extend from the 
brain to the larynx, and the voice is gone ; 
sever the nerves of the limb, and it becomes 
paralytic, or, in other words, is withdraw^n 
from the infleuce of the will. Cut through the 
spinal chord, and all sensibility and power of 
voluntary motion is lost below the divided part. 

We shall now let Ergates speak for himself, 
because no form of words can bj more lucid 
than his own. 

"If we investigate the condition of the vari- 
ous oiders of vertebrate animals, which alone 
admit of a comparison with our own species, we 
find, on the one hand, great differences among 
them, with regard to both their physical and 
mental faculties, and on the other hand a not 
less marked difference as to the structure of 
their brain. In all of them the bi-ain has a 
central organ, which is a continuation of the 
spinal chord, and to which anatomists give the 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 23 

name of medulla ohlonqata. In connection 
with this, there are other bodies placed in pairs, 
of a small size and simple structure in the low- 
est species of iish, becoming gradually larger 
and more complex as we trace them through 
the other classes, uutil they reach their greatest 
degree of development in man himself. That 
each of these boaies has its peculiar functions, 
there cannot, I apprehend, be the smallest 
doubt; and it is, indeed, sufficiently probable 
that each of them is not a single organ, but a 
congeries of organs, having distinct and sepa- 
rate uses." 

Experiment and observation of changes pro- 
duced by disease have thrown some light on 
this field of research, where so much darkness 
still re juires to be enlightened ; and thongh we 
are among those who hold that cruelty, or the 
infliction of unnecessary pain on the animals 
subject to ns, is not to be tolerated, but to be 
repressed, if need be, by the strong hand of the 
law, we cannot join in the condemnation of 
those experimental physiologists whose opera- 
tions have, in some degree, rendered this mys- 
terious subject less obscure : — 

"There is reason to believe that, whatever it 
may do besides, one office of the cerebellum is to 
combine the action of the voluntary muscles 
foi' the purpose of locomotion. The corpora 
quadrigemina are four tubercles, which connect 
the cerebrum, cerebellum, and onedulla oblongata 
to each other. If one of the uppermost of these 
bodies be removed, blindness of the eye of the 
opposite side is the consequence. If the upper 
part of the cerebrum be removed, the animal 
becomes blind and apparently stupefied ; but 
not so much so bat that he may be roused, and 
that he can then walk with steadiness and pre- 
cision. The most important part of the whole 
brain seems to be a particular portion of the 
central organ or medulla oblongata. While this 



24 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

remains entire, tlie animal retains its sensibility, 
breathes, and performs instinctive motions. 
But if this small mass of the nervous S3'stem be 
injured, there is an end of these several func- 
tions, and death immediately ensues. These 
facts, and some others of the same Icind, for a 
knowledi!:e of which we are indebted toinodera 
physiologists, and more especially to M. Ma- 
gendie and M. Flourens, are satisfactory as far 
us they go, and warrant the conclusion that 
there are various other organs in the brain, de- 
sitrned for other purposes, and that if we can- 
not point out their locality, it is not because 
such organs do not exist, but because our means 
of research into so intricate a matter are very 
limited." 

Now if the speculation as to the existence of 
special organs in the brain, for the purpose of 
locomotion and speech, be correct, it would ap- 
pear probable that there is a special organ for 
that of memory also. Ergates acknowledges 
the truth of this observation, which is given to 
Crites, but honestly adds that there our knowl- 
edge ends : — 

"We may, I suppose (says Ergates), take it 
for granted that there is no animal whose mem- 
ory is equally capacious with that of man ; and 
we know that, with the exception perhaps of 
the dolphin (of Avhose faculties we know noth- 
ing), there is no other animal in whom that 
portion of the cerebrum Avhich we call hemis- 
pheres, and which are bounded externally by 
the convolutions is equally developed. It may 
be said, and not without some show of reason, 
' Do not these facts seem to indicate Avhere the 
faculty of memory resides ?' Willis answered 
the question in the affirmative.* But observe 
how it is in birds. In them there are no con- 
volutions ; an d the only part of the brain which 

* De Anatome Cerebri, cap. 10. 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIKIES. 25 

can be said to correspond to the cerebral 
hemispheres of man, is merely a thin layer of 
cerebral substance expanded over some other 
structures, which are developed to an enormous 
size. Yet we know that birds which are do- 
mesticated exhibit sip;ns of considerable mem- 
ory, parrots and cockatoos recognizing indi- 
viduals after a long interval of time ; and that 
birds in their natural state return to their old 
haunts after their annual migrations. The ex- 
ploits of the carrier-pigeons cannot be explained 
Avithout attributing to them no small powers of 
observation and of recollecting what they had 
observed. Perhaps future observations on the 
effects produced by disease of the brain in con- 
nection Avith affections of the memory may 
throw some light on this mysterious subject. 
At present we must be content to acknowledge 
that we know nothing as to the locality of the 
function, nor of the minute changes of organi- 
zation which are connected with it." 

In the third dialogue the subject of memory 
is continued, and we easily pass to the consid- 
eration of the sequence and association of 
ideas, and to the suggestion of them by inter- 
nal physical causes, acting on the brain by the 
nerves, or through the medium of the blood. 
And here we enter the land of dreams, and are 
interested by anecdotes illustrating the power 
of local disease or injury, in producing the 
phantasms which distress us, when we are sub- 
ject to the dominion of Queen Mab. Acci- 
dental pressure on a tumor in the leg gave rise 
to a frightful dream ; and children, who are often 
prevented from falling asleep, by the local 
pains which accompany disease of the hip- 
joint, and painful starting of the limb, are tor- 
mented, when, worn with watching they at last 
fall asleep, by distressing dreams. A gentle- 
man dreamed that a great dog was tearing 
him, awoke in terror, and found that his left 



26 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

arm was in a state of complete numbness, from 
which it afterwards recovered. Ergates well 
accounts for such xjheuomena, by stating that 
an impression is made on a nerve, producing 
in its minute structure certain changes, which 
affect the mind itself. But, as he truly ob- 
serves, the same effect may be produced with- 
out the intervention of the nerves, by the sub- 
stitution of dark -colored venous blood for that 
scarlet or arterial blood whose influence Bi- 
chat has shown to be so necessary for the due 
performance of the functions of the brain. 
Blood of improper quality, or containing some- 
thing which blood should not contain, may not 
only disturb the cerebral functions, but even 
influence the mind. Hence the soothing and 
luxurious apocalypse of the habitual opium- 
eater, and the mad energy of the Lascar, who 
runs a muck at all he meets, under the influ- 
ence of hashish. In like manner the poison 
of small-pox, fermenting and accumulating, 
brings on severe fever, with not unfrequeutly 
its train of delirious phantasms. A young 
gentleman, coming from the country, under 
the influence of this contagion, fancied that he 
was beset by a swarm of bees, knocked at the 
door of the chamber of a friend, in a half- 
dressed state, and when admitted walked to 
the sofa, and, after complaining of the annoy- 
ing s\vai-m, which existed only in his imagina- 
tion, lay down on it, as he was, and, evidently 
supposing that he was in bed, said, ' Doctor,' 
— the mode of address which he generally 
used towards his friend, who had known him 
from childhood, but who was, however, no M. 
D., — 'tuck me up.' On his way down the 
youth was under the delusion that the coach- 
man by whose side he sat, was his servant, 
whom he had left behind, described to coachee's 
great annoyance, the places which they passed, 
and among- other pieces of information pointed 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 27 

out to liini tlie Peacock at Islington , where lie 
had changed horses for some twenty years, as 
something new. 

The uncomfortable thoughts and fretful pee- 
vishness which make tlie gouty man a trouble 
to himself aud to every one about him, have been 
traced by Dr. Garrod, to the superabundance of 
lltbic acid in the blood. How much of moral 
and physical evil do we bring upon ourselves, 
by our lazy and luxurious habits. 

" Happiness, after all, is not so unequally 
distributed in this world as to a superficial ob- 
server it seems to be. Poverty is terrible if it be 
such as to prevent the actual necessaries of life. 
But the agricultural laborer who has enough of 
wholesome food and warm clothing for himself 
and his family, and who has the advantage, 
which cannot be too highly estimated, of living 
in the open air, has more actual enjoyment of 
life than the inheritor of wealth, living in a 
splendid mansion, who has too much of lithic 
acid in his blood." 

We commend the following to the notice of 
those who think that schools (where, by the 
way, we seldom find the poorer classes taught 
those arts which would enable them to be good 
servants and useful members of society,) are 
the sovereign remedy for all social ills. Hear 
Ergates again : 

"Much is said at present as to the necessity 
of extending education, as the means of im- 
proving the condition of the multitude. I am 
not so great a heretic as to deny the advan- 
tages of knowledge and of early instruction, 
especially if it be combined with a proper train- 
ing of the mind, so as to give the pupil habits 
of self restraint. But there is much to be de- 
sired besides. Nothing can tend more to every 
kind of moral and intellectual degradation than 
the vice of gin-drinking, so prevalent in some, 
but not in all, of the lower classes of society. 



2S PSTCHGLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

In a conversation which I had with a very intel- 
ligent person employed by the ' City Missionary 
Society,' whose location was in London among 
the inhabitants of St. Giles's parish, he said, 
' I assure yon that there is scarcely any one of 
them who might not obtain a comfortable live- 
lihood if he could leave off drinking gin.' But 
see how one thing hangs upon another, and 
how one evil leads to another evil. Mr. Chad- 
wick has shown that many are driven to drink- 
ing gin as affording a temporary relief to the 
feelings of depression and exhaustion produced 
by living in a noxious atmosphere ; and he gives 
instancesof individuals who had spontaneously 
abandoned the habit, when they were enabled 
to reside in a less crowded and more healthy 
locality, where they could breathe the pure air, 
instead of noxious exhalations. The case of 
such persons is analogous to that of others who 
become addicted to the use of opium, as the 
means of relief from bodily pain. Schools and 
churches are excellent things, hut it is a vast 
mistake to suppose that they will do all that is 
reqnired. There can be no feeling of content- 
ment where there is an iusuffi'.'ient supply of 
wholesome food, and the 'Temperance Soci- 
ety' can make few converts among those who 
live in crowded buildings, unventilated, and 
with imperfect drainage.^ Our late legislation 
has accomplished much, and as much as it can 
reasonably be expected to accomplish, towards 
the attainment of the first of these objects : and 
measures are now in progress which justify the 
expectation that eventually much good may be 
done in the other direction also." 

May a blessing attend the efforts of those 
benevolent men who, through good report and 
evil report, have persisted in this labor of love. 
None but those whose offices bring them in con- 
tact with the dwellings of the London poor can 
form any notion of the squalid wretchedness in 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 29 

which they exist, frequently within bow-shot of 
gilded palaces. No wonder the wretched in- 
mates there huddled together have recourse to 
alcohol — that curse to which we owe nine-tenths 
of the crime which hUs our jails. On some of 
these criminals the fire-water seems to act so as 
to cauterize every good and to inflame every 
bad propensity. Burke and Hare prepared 
themselves for their task by copious libations of 
gin. In others, it almost entirely — in some 
cases, entirely — obliterates the memory of what 
passed when they were under the intoxicating 
influence. The forgeifulness seems as complete 
as if they had drunk of Lethe ; and we have 
seen numbers who had committed the most 
brutal assaults under the excitement of ardent 
spirits, who, when called on for their defence, 
have said, and as we believe truly, that they had 
no recollection at all about the matter. 

The subject of false perceptions simulating 
realities is well haniled, and the phantoms seen 
by Nicolai and others discussed. The case of a 
gentleman, eighty years of age, who had been 
for some time laborins,- under hypochondriasis, 
attended with other indications of cerebral dis- 
ease, is mentioned : 

" On a cold day in winter, while at church, 
he had a fit, which was considered to be apo- 
plectic. He was taken home and bled, and re- 
covered his consciousness, not being paralytic 
afterwards. He died, however, in a few days 
after the attack. During this interval, though 
having the perfect use of his mental faculties, 
he was haunted by the appearance of men and 
women, sometimes in one dress, sometimes in 
another, coming into and loitering in the room. 
These figures were so distinct that, at first, he 
always mistook them for realities, and wondered 
that his family should have allowed such per- 
sons to intrude themselves upon him. But he 
soon, by a process of reasoning, corrected this 



30 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

error, and then talked of thera as he would have 
talked of the illusions of another person," 

Such spectral illusions, some of them ghastly 
enough, are not uncommon; and those who 
feel interested in this part of the subject will 
find an ample phantasmagoria in the works of 
Alderson, Ferriar, Hibberr, Scott, Esquirol, 
Brtwster, and others. Id many of these cases 
the patient, like the gentleman whose mental 
state is noticed in the volume before us, is sen- 
si le that the spectra are illusions, and in almost 
all who recover, the spectra become gradually 
more and more faint till they vanish altogether. 
We know a gentleman of strong mind, and a 
most accomplished scholar, who" was for many 
years subject to such phantasms, some suffi- 
ciently grotesque, and he would occasionally 
laugh heartily at their antics. Sometimes it 
appeared as if they interrupted a conversation 
in v\iiich he was engaged ; and then, if with his 
family or intimate friends, he would turn to 
empty space, and say, "I don't care a farthing 
for ye, ye amuse me greatly sometimes, but you 
are a bore just now." His spectra, when so 
addressed, would, to his eye, resume their an- 
tics, at which he would laugh, turn to his friend 
and continue his conversation. In other re- 
spects he was perfectly healthy, his mind was 
of more than ordinary strength, and he would 
speak of "his plmntoms," and reason upon 
their appearance, bmgg perfectly conscious that 
the whole was illusive. 

Many a ghost, we suspect, is raised by indi- 
gestion or disturbance of the nervous system, 
arising from a vitiated state of the blood, pro- 
duced by stimulants, disease, or narcotics. 
There are few who are not familiar with the 
visions of the "Opium-eater." 

'" Mr. Coleridge,' said a lady to the author of 
Chriatabel, one day, 'do you believe in ghosts ?' '* 



PSYCHOLOGICA.L INQUIRIES. 31 

" ' No, madam, I have seen too many of 
them,' " was the reply. 

Swedenborg" was an exception to the general 
rule that persons haunted by similar spectral or 
auditorial illusions do not mistake the decep- 
tions for real objects. He was in his fifty-eighth 
year, wlicn, says he, "I was called to a holy 
office by the Lord, who most graciously mani- 
fested himself in person to me his servant, in 
the year 1745, and opened my sight into the 
spiritual world, endowing me with the gift of 
conversing with spirits and angels." This 
event, according to his own account, happened 
at an inn in London, in April of that year, but 
not on the first day of the month. He appears 
to have been sincere in his belief that he con- 
versed with Moses and Elias, was never seen to 
laugh, but his countenance always wore a cheer- 
ful smile. He was a man of no ordinary tal- 
ents and attainments, upright and just as a 
public lunctionary ; and so far from being an 
eccentric person in society, he was easy in his 
manners, accommodatmg himself to his com- 
pany, conversing on the topics of the day, and 
never aliudin^; to his peculiar and extraordinary 
principles unless he was questioned, when he 
would answer freely, just as he had written of 
them. Any disposition to impertinence or ban- 
ter was met with a manner and answer that 
silenced the querist withou^atisfying him. 

By an easy step we are mw led to the awful 
consideration of mental derangement, and the 
question, so vitally interesting in a social point 
of view, of " moral insanity," as it is called. 

We entirely agree with C rites in the certainty 
that it is dangerous to admit the plea of irre- 
sponsibility for those who labor under this affec- 
tion, to the extent to which Dr. Pritchard and 
others have claimed it for them ; and we would 
earnestly entreat those who are concerned in 



33 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

the administration of justice — ^juries especially 
— to consider the remarks which follow : 

" Observe (says Crites) tliat I use the term 
Moral Insanity not as comprehending cases in 
which tliere is a belief in things that do not 
exist in reality, or cases of idiocy, or those ap- 
proaching to idiocy ; but limiting it strictly and 
exclusively to the deflnition given by writers on 
the subject. The law makes a reasonable allow- 
ance for the subsiding of passion suddenly pro- 
voked. But we are not, therefore, to presume 
that the same allov»'ance is to be made for those 
in whom a propensity to set fire to their neigh- 
bors' houses, or commit murder, is continued 
for months, or weeks, or even for hours. Is it 
true that such persons are really so regardless 
of the ill consequences which may arise, so in- 
capable of the fear of punishment and so abso- 
lutely without the pov\^er of self-restraint, as 
they have been sometimes represented to be? 
If not, there is an end of their want of respons- 
ibility. Let me refer here to the instance of the 

gouty patient Under the influence 

of his disease, every impression made on his 
nerv jus system is attended with uneasy sensa- 
tions. If such a person has exerted himself to 
acquire the habit of self-control, the evil ends 
with himself, but otherwise he is fractious and 
peevish ; flies into a passion, without any ade- 
quate cause, with those ai-ound him, and uses 
harsh words whicli the occasion does not jus- 
tify; conduct of which he can offer to himself 
no explanation, except that he cannot help it ; 
and for which, if he be a right-minded person, 
he is sorry afterwards. If he were to yield to 
the impulse of his temper so far as to inflict on 
another a severe bodily injury, ought it to be 
admitted as an excuse that Dr. Garrod had ex- 
amined, his blood, and found in it too large a 
proportion of lithic acid ?" 

If there be any one — except always the school 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES, 33 

of Moral Insaiiitists — so perverted as to answer 
in the affirmative, we beg him to read a little 
further : 

" Yet, wher Oxford yielded to what was prob- 
ably a less violent impulse, which caused him 
to endeavor to take away the life of tiie Queen, 
the jury acquitted him, on the ground of his 
being the subject of 'Moral Insanity.' It 
seems to me that juries have not un frequently 
been misled by the refinements of medical wit- 
nesses, who, having adopted the theory of a 
purely moral insanity, have applied that term 
to cases to which the term insanity ouglit not to 
be applied at all." 

Some of our readers may remember the case 
of Captain Johnson, which made no little noise 
at the time. 

This man, on his arrival in England, charged 
his crew with mutiny on the hiyh seas, but, ou 
the hearing by the magistrate at the I'hames 
Police Court, the tables were turned, and he was 
charged with the murder of more than one of 
his crew, and with wounding others of them 
with intent to murder. It appeared that, on 
the voyage, he had fallen in with a French ship, 
from which he had obtained a supply of wine 
and brandy, that he drank to excess, and com- 
mitted the crimes, with which he was charged, 
at intervals. No person could appear to be 
more sane than he was when at the bar of the 
police court ; but he had uttered some doggerel 
about the battle of Bannockburn while he was 
hacking and hewing the mate and the crew, and 
the jury found him not guilty, on the ground 
of insanity. He cut tne mate almost to pieces 
— one of the witnesses said that the captain 
"cut a piece off him every half hour" — killed 
the wretched man by inches, and the jury pro- 
nounced him to be a madman. Mad drunk he 
probably was when he committed the savage 
crue ties laid to his charge ; but if every man 



84 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

who excites a naturally brutal temperament by 
stimulants is to be considered an irrespoosibie 
agent, who is safe? 

Every one may be said to be beside himself 
when he commits a crime. But laws are made 
for the very purpose of checking such im- 
pulses. 

The Esher murders still reek in the recol- 
lection of all. Aune Brougli's case may be 
shortly stated as that of a wickedly vicious 
woman, who, having been found out and up- 
braided by her injured husband, cut the throats 
of her six children to feed her revenge. The 
jury found her not guilty, on the ground of 
insanity. 

It is hardly too much to say that neither the 
murderer nor the murderess were so insane as 
the two dozen of wrongheads who acquitted 
them on account of the accumulated enormi- 
ties which they had commuted. It is as if these 
juries had said to evil-minded persons, " Don't 
murder o)ie only, or you will stand a chance of 
being hanged ; murder many — the more cruelly 
the safer — and you are sure to get off, and 
be kept at the expense of a benevolent govern- 
ment for life." 

Even in cases of actual insanity, it has al- 
ways struck us as a most mischievous absurd- 
ity that, in criminal cases, this question should 
be left to the determination of a common jury. 
Twelve men, respectable in their station, but 
whose minds have seldom been applied to any- 
thing beyond the ordinary business of life, are 
called upon to inquire into the most mysterious 
part of our organization, and to decide otF-hand 
a question which is difficult to those who have 
studied the subject most deeply. 

But hear Crites in continuation : 

" It is true that the ditference in the character 
of individuals may frequently be traced to 
difference in their organizations, and to dilferent 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 35 

conditions as to bodily health ; and that, there- 
fore, one person has more and another has less 
difficulty in controlling his temper and regu- 
latiag his conduct. But we have all our duties 
to perform, and one of the most important of 
these is that we should strive against whatever 
evil tendency there may be in us arising out of 
our physical constitution. Even if we admit 
(which I do not admit in reality,) that the 
impulse which led Oxford to the commission of 
his crime was at the time irresistible, still tlie 
question remains whether, when the notion of 
it first haunted him, he might not have kept it 
under his control, and thus prevented himself 
from passing into that state of mind which was 
beyond his control afterwards. If I have been 
rightly informed, Oxford was himself of this 
opinion ; as he said, when another attempt had 
been made to take away the life of the queen, 
'that if he himself had been hanged, this 
would not have happened.' We have been 
loldo:- a very eminent person who had acquired 
the habit of touching every post that he met with 
in his walks, so that at last it seemed to be a 
part of his nature to do so ; and that if he found 
that he had inadvertently passed by a post with- 
out touching it, he would actually retrace his 
steps for the purpose. I knew a gentleman who 
was accustomed to matter certain words to 
himself, (and they were always the same words, ) 
even in the midst of company. He died at the 
age of ninety, and I believe that he had mut- 
tered these words for fifty or sixty years. These 
were foolish habits ; but they might have been 
mischievous. To correct them at last would 
have been a very arduous Undertaking. But 
might not this have been easily done in the 
beginning ? And if so — if, instead of touching- 
posts, or muttering unmeaning words, these 
individuals had been addicted to stealing or 
stabbing— ought they to have been absolved 



36 PSVCirOhOGJCAL reQCilUES. 

from all respousibility ? It lias been observed 
by a physician who has had large opportunities 
of experience on these matters, that 'a man 
may allow his imagination to dwell on an idea 
imtil it acquires an unhealthy ascendency over 
his intellect.'^ And surely, if under such cir- 
cumstances, he were to commit a murder, he 
ought to be held as a murderer, and would have 
no more claim to be excused than a man who 
has voluntarily associated with thieves «nd 
murderers until he had lost all sense of right 
and wrong ; and much less than one who has 
had the misfortune of being born and bred 
among STich malefactors." 

Those who are addicted to the morbid sympa- 
thy which is so indulgent to criminals, and 
especially to that class who have committed 
crime, but, to use the language of their apolo- 
gists, "couldn't help it," will do well to study 
Dr. Mayo's Croomian Lectures on Medical Tes- 
timony and Evidence in Cases of Lunacy, 
wherein the whole subject is treated with lucid 
ability, and a just theory is supported by 
practical knowledge, the result of great and 
well-applied experience. 

The fourth dialogue treats of the different 
functions of the brain and spinal cord, and the 
continuance of life in some animals without 
the brain, as in the case of the headless lizards 
of Le Gallois, and of the tortoise whose brain 
had been entirely removed from the skull by 
Eedi, if such automatic existence may be dig- 
nified by the name of life, which may, indeed, 
be present without anything bearing the most 
remote relation to the mental principle — as in 
the living organized " extraordinary product of 
human generation," in which was neither 
brain, spinal marrow, nerves, heart, noi lungs, 
recorded by Dr. John Clarke.! The whole of 

* " Anatomy of Suicide," by Forbes Winslow, M. D, 
t Phil. Trans., 1793, p. 151. 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 37 

this chapter is most interesting, full of informa- 
tion and well-expressed thought. 

The origin of the nervous force and the 
narcotic eifects of venous or dark-colored blood 
on the brain, as depriving it of that something 
which exists in the scarlet blood but not in the 
venous blood, and which is necessar}" to the 
generation of the nervous force, are forcibly- 
laid before the reader. Alcohol, cliloroform, 
opium, and the woorara poison, when intro- 
duced into the circulation, produce the same 
effect, even though the supply of the scarlet 
blood is not interrupted ; but Ergates himself 
confesses, that of the modus operandi of such 
terrible agents we are wholly ignorant : 

" All that we know is the simple fact, that 
when their operation is complete, they render 
the brain insensible to the impressions made on 
the external senses, and incapable of transmit- 
ting the influence of volition to the muscles. 
Pressure on the brain or a stroke of lightning 
may produce the same effect." 

Ergates purposely avoids the use of the word 
"unconsciousness," for as to that, he truly 
says, we know nothing : 

" The mind may be in operation, although 
the suspension of the sensibility of the nervous 
system, and of the volition of the muscles, 
destroys its connection with the ext'^rnal world, 
and prevents all communication with the minds 
of others." 

But who shall say when the external senses 
are completely and absolutely closed ? 

"An elderly lady had a stroke of apoplexy; 
she lay motionless, and in what is called a state 
of stupor, and no one doubted that she was 
dying. But after the lapse of three or four 
days, there were signs of amendment, and she 
ultimately recovered. A'ter her recovery, she 
explained that she did not believe that she had 
been unconscious, or even insensible, during 



38 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

any part of the attack. She knew her situation, 
and heard much of what was said hj those 
around her. Especially she recollected obser- 
vations intimating that she would very soon be 
no more, but that at the same time she had felt 
satisfied that she would recover ; that she had 
no power of expressing what she felt, but that 
nevertheless her feelings, instead of being pain- 
ful, or in any way distressing, had been agree- 
able rather than otherAvise. She described them 
as very peculiar; as if she were constantly 
mounting upwards, and as something very 
different from what she had ever before expe- 
rienced. Another lady, who had met with a 
severe injury of the head, which caused her to 
be for some days in a state of insensibility, 
described herself as having been in the enjoy- 
ment of some beatific visions, at the same time 
that she had no knowledge of what had actu- 
ally happened, or of what was passing around 
lier." 

Such was the euthanasia of Queen Katherine, 
as described by him who was not of an age, but 
for all time : — 

"Saw you not even now a l)lesse:i troope 
lavite me to a banquet, whose bright faces 
Cast a thousand beams upon me like the sun? 
They promised me eternall happinesse, 
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feele 
I am not worthy yet; to weare: I shall assuredly. 
****** 
Do you note 
How much her Grace is altered on the sodaine? 
How long her face.is drawne? how p:ile she lookes, 
And of an earthly cold? Mark her eyes? 
Griffith. She is going, wench. Pray, pray!"* 

Intelligent observers, " who do attend the i 

dying," are satisfied that even where an ordi- j 
nary bystander would conclude that the mori- i 

* "The Life of King Henry the Eighth." Actus ' 

Quartus. Scaana Secunda. (Folio.) | 



PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 39 

bund individual is in a state of complete stupor, 
the mind is often active, ay, even at the very 
moment of death ; and the remarkable case of 
I>r. Wollaston is alluded to. The decease of 
that eminent man was occasioned by a tumor 
of the brain, about the size of half a hen's egg, 
Vv'hich, by encroacliina,' on the ventricles, caused 
an eifusion of fluid into them, and produced 
paralysis of one side of the body. There was 
ample evidence that the mental faculties were 
perfect during his last illness, and even in hia 
last moments : — 

" Some time before his life was finally ex in- 
gnished, he was seen pale, as if there was 
scarcely any circulation of blood going on, 
motionle s, and to all appearance in a state of 
complete insensibilit5^ Being in this condition, 
bis friends who were watch ng around him 
observed some motions of the hand which was 
not affected by paralysis. After some time, it 
occurred to them that he wished to have a 
pencil and paper ; and these having been sup- 
plied, he contrived to write some figures in 
arithmetical progression, whicli, however im- 
perfectly scrawled, were yet sufficiently legible. 
£t was supposed that he had overheard some re- 
marks respecting the state in which he was, and 
that his object was to show that he preserved 
his sensibility and consciousness. Something 
like this occurred some hours afterwards, and 
immediately before he died, but the scrawl of 
these last moments could not be deciphered." 

Indeed this accomplished philosopher and 
acute and accurate observer appears to have 
been employed in making observations on his 
own case, even in extremis. Before the occur- 
rence of the acts above related, but when he 
was lying speechless and motionless, his mouth 
was moistened with a morsel of pine-apple. 
He made some sign which induced his friends 
to furnish a pencil and paper, and he wrote 



40 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

the words "pine," " good," as if to show that 
ihe nerves of taste still did their duty. 

One of the effects produced by the sudden 
and apparently close approximation of death 
is illustrated by the well-known case of the 
amiable and efficient Admiralty hydrographer. 
Sir Francis Beaufort, when he was preserved 
from being drowned, and when — 

" Every incident of his former life seemed to 
glance across his recollection in a retrograde 
succession, not in mere outline, but the picture 
being filled with every minute and collateral 
feature, forming a kind of panoramic view of 
his entire existence, each act of it accompanied 
by a sense of right and wrong." * 

A similar effect was produced on an officer 
in the Company's service, when cauu-bt on 
board a Burmese canoe in the late territ)le 
hurricane, which caused such extensive de- 
struction. The frail bark had been lightened 
by throwing the whole of his property over- 
board ; hope was gone ; the franiic, despairing 
Burmese crew were calling on their gods, and 
death stared them in the face. The officer de- 
clares, that, though in those awful moments he 
entirely retained his self-possession, every act 
of his life came before him with the most vivid 
intensity. He and the crew were miraculously 
saved, when larger vessels near them were 
swallowed up. 

When about eight years old, the writer of 
this imperfect notice had a narrow escape lYoni 
drowning. Some big boys of the school where 
he was, threw him, before he had learned to 
swim, into water far beyond his depth, and he 
sank. After the first confusion occasioned by 
the fright and "hideous noise of waters in his 
cars," €;very passage of his young life glanced 
before him. Then his sensations became far 
from unpleasant, and his last remembrance was 
* Autobiographi2al Memoir of Sir John Barrow, Bart. 



PSYCHOLOGICAL IKQUIKIES. 41 

a fancy that he was lying" in the lap of his 
mother, in a lovely meadow, enamelled with 
cowslips, hlue-bells, violets, and oiher bright 
spi ing flowers. 

All the remarks tipon the state of mind pre- 
ceding death are most interesting ; and we are 
presented with the consoling and as we believe, 
true oi)servation, that the mere act of dying 
is seldom, in any sense of the word, a painful 
process ; and that, with regard to the actual 
fear of death, it sei ms that the Author of our 
existence, lor the most part, gives it to us 
when it is intended that we should live, and 
takes it av/ay from us when it is intended that 
we should die. Claudio's eloquent horror of a 
violent death is natural enough, especially in 
a mind capable of consenting to purchase life 
upon such terms as he proposes to his sister ; 
but Ergates, whose experience must have been 
great, declares that he never knew but two in- 
stances in M'hich, in the act of dying, there 
were manifest indications of the fear of death, 
and tliose were cases of hemorrhage, in which 
the depressing effects arising from tlie gradual 
loss of blood seemed to intlueuce the minds of 
the sufferers. "Seneca might have chosen," 
adds Ergates, " an easier deaih than that from 
opening his arteries." 

Death from mere old age is compared to 
falling' asleep, never to awaken ag'ain in this 
world; and hence the transition is easy to a 
lucid consideration of the phenomena of sleep, 
" nature's soft nurse," so necessary to our ex- 
istence. Death or madness must be the result 
of a long-continued absence of this great re- 
storer ; so felt and said, in his last illness, the 
noble poet who had done so much for fame at 
so early a period of his life, and whose untimely 
death too truly verified one part of his asser- 
tion.* Ergates mentions the case of a gentle- 
* l.^oKjLti'6 Life of Lord Lyruu. 



42 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

man who, from intense anxiety, passed six 
entire days without sleep. At the end of tliis 
time he became alfeeted with illusions of such 
a nature that it was necessary to place him in 
confinement. After some time he recovered 
perfectly. He had never shown any sif^ns of 
mental derangement before, nor had any one of 
his family, and he has never been similarly 
affected since. Those who have been subjected 
to cruel tortures have declared that the most 
intolerable was the deprivation of sleep ; and as 
this was one of the modes of treating the un- 
liappy old women who fell into the hands of 
the witch-finders, it may account for some of 
their illusions, and the crazy confessions that 
they made. The siclc-nurse has frequently re- 
course to stimulants, which indeed remove for 
a time tlie uneasiness and languor occasioned 
by the want of sleep. But the temyjorary re- 
lief is dearly purchased, and those who have 
recourse to alcohol on such occasions, should 
know that it does not create nervous power, but 
only enables the recipients to use up that which 
is left, leaving them in more need of rest than 
ever, when the stimulus has ceased to act. 

There are not wanting those who look upon 
Dream-land as sacred ground ; and we could 
say much upon the warnings which such be- 
lievers recount in proof of their faith. But 
though every dream that " comes true " is 
caiefuUy recorded, the failures are not so 
faitlifuUy registered. We are too apt to keep a 
list of the prizes in the dream-lottery, and to 
forget the' blanks. But whether dreams de- 
scend from Jove, and are prophetic, or tlie 
mere va2,-aries of the uncontrolled imagination, 
the rapidity of the incidents which arise, and 
the multitude of scenes in the visionary drama 
which appear to pass in a given time, cannot 
be denied. They " come like shadows— so de- 
part." An anecdote, related of himself, by the 



PSTCHOLOGICAL I>;QUI11IES. 43 

late Lord Holland, is alluded to. He declared 
that, on one occasion, being much fatigued, he 
fell asleep while a friend was reading aloud, 
and had a dream, the particulars of which 
would have occupied him a quarter of an hour 
or longer to express in writing. Yet, when he 
awoke, he found that he remembered the be- 
ginning of one sentence, while he actually 
heard the latter part of the sentence immedi- 
ately following it, so that he could have slept 
only for a few seconds. This reminds one of 
ISIohammed, who, on his return fj'om a journey 
through space with the angel Gabriel, found 
the water still running from the pitcher which 
he had overset with his foot as he was setting 
out. That memory is a principal sour'ce whence 
the incidents of dreams are drawn there can be 
no doubt. The older we grow, the more we 
live, in our dreams, with departed spirits. As 
we advance in life, time, too, passes more rap- 
idly. Poor, dear, Theodore Hook, in his last 
years, would sadly say, when Spring returned, 
"Here are the leaves again!" The effect of 
external agencies and internal bodily affections 
on our dreams is generally admitted ; but we 
agree with Ergates, when he doubts Lord 
Brougham's axiom that we never dream except 
while in a state of transition from being asleep 
to being awake. We cannot, however, concur 
with Crites, when he doubts whether Coleridge 
composed " Kubla Klan " in his sleep. No per- 
son could appear to be more certain of anything 
than was the poet that such was the case, and we 
are of those who deeply regret the interruption 
that disturbed his remembrance, ami deprived 
us of the rest of that most melodious verse. 

The fifth dialogue treats in a masterly man- 
ner of the mental faculties of animals, and of 
the relation of those faculties to the structure 
of the brain. In this inquiry the cerebral or- 
gans connected with the animal appetites and 



44 PSYCHOLOGICAL INQUIRIES. 

instincts are passed in review. Ttie importance 
of tlie posterior iobes of the cerebrum, wliich 
are almost peculiar to tlie liuman race, cannot 
be doubted. 

"Ttie only other animals in which they exi-t 
are those of the tribe of monkeys, and in them 
they are of a much smaller size than they are 
in man. The absence of the posterior lobes in- 
cludes the absence of what seems to be a spe- 
cial organ situated in the lower part of the 
posterior elongation of the lateral ventricle, 
known by anaiomists under the name of the 
hipjjocampus minor. The corjnis callositm is 
the name given to a broad, thick band of ner- 
vous fibres which unites the cerebral hem- 
ispheres, as if for the purpose chiefly of 
bringing them into harmonious action with 
each other. In the kangaroo, which I have 
already mentioned as having a very low degree 
of intelligence, the corinis callosum is altogether 
wanting. This fact in itself might lead us to 
conjecture that some important office is allot- 
ted to it ; and the opinion is confirmed by ob- 
servations made on the human subject. Cases 
are on record in which this organ was wanting, 
either wholly or in part. In none of them 
could it be said that the intellectual faculties 
were altogether deficient. J ut in all of them 
there was an incapability of learning, producing 
an apparent dulness of the intellect, so that 
the individuals were unfit for all but the most 
simple duties of life." * 

You may make almost anythincr of a man 
with a well-developed brain ; not so with a 
monkey, elephant, dog, or seal ; though you 
may do a good deal with them. In the brutes 
there is a certain limit beyond which you can- 
not go. 

* See Mr. Paget's and Mr. Henry's observations in 
the " Medicj-Gliirurgical Trausaccious," vols. xxix. 
and xi^i. 



PSYCIIOLOGrCAL INQUIRIES. 45 

The intelligeuce and instinct of insects is ad- 
mirably illustrated ; for example : 

"Their habit (Ergates is speaking of bees) — 
is to build their honey-comb from above down- 
wards, attaching it to the upper part of the 
hive. On one occasion, when a large portion 
of the honey-comb had been broken off, they 
pursued another course. The fragrment had 
somehow become fixed in the middle of the 
hive, and the bees immediately began to erect 
a new structure of comb on the floor, so placed 
as to form a pillar supporting the fragment, 
and preventing its further descent. They then 
filled up the space above, joining the comb 
which had become detached to that from which 
it had been separated, and they concluded their 
labors by removing the newly-constructed 
comb below ; thus proving that they had in- 
tended it to answer a merely temporary pur- 
pose." 

No human architect could have proceeded 
more rationally. 

The sixth and last dialogue, which deals with 
the science of human nature, crowns the inter- 
esting series ; and in it the pretensions of 
Phrenology, with its theories of proud rats who 
live in hay-lofts, humble rats who live in gut- 
ters and sewers, the thirty-three faculties, and 
all the rest of it, come under searching descrip- 
tion. When phrenologists refer the mere ani- 
mal propensities in man chiefly to the posterior 
lobes, they forget that they are absolutely want- 
ing in quadrupeds. Again, the brain of birds 
is essentially diiferent in structure not only 
from the brain of man, but from that of all 
other mammalia. It has no convolutions, and 
can present no phrenological organs, as they 
are termed, corresponding to those which are 
said to exist in the human brain. Yet few an- 
imals are more pugnacious than a fighting 
cock, or more destructive than an eagle ; and 



46 psrcnoLOGiCAL inquiries. 

all will allow that no creatures are more 
attaclied to their homes and young than birds, 
to say nothing of their musical and imitative 
powers. 

Though a large development of the cerebral 
organs in man will generally be found to be ac- 
companied, by large powers of mind, the size 
of the head is a very unsafe criterion. The 
powerful and energetic Daniel Webster had ap- 
parently brains enough to fill two hats. The 
mighty Newton's head seems, from the memo- 
randa lefc to us, to have been beloAv the average 
size ; and Byron's head was small. The expe- 
rience of Ergates, that some very stupid per- 
sons, within his own knowledge, have had very 
large heads, corresponds with our own. But 
space forbids our further pursuit of this most 
interesting topic. We must brealc off, and 
leave the consideration of what may be the 
capabilities of the mental principle, independ- 
ently of organization, or how much belongs to 
the one and liow much to tlie other, confessing 
witli Ergates, that in this, as in other matters 
belonging to this order of inquiries, our actual 
knowledge goes a very little way : 

" ' We see these things through a glass dark- 
ly,' and must be content humbly to acknowl- 
edge that the greater part is not only beyond 
the limits of our observation, but probably be- 
yond those of our comprehension." 

We trust however, that the gifted author 
will coutiuae the "Psychological Inquiries;" 
and, in that hope, close this most instructive 
and amusing book. He must be very accom- 
plished and very good who does not rise from 
the perusal of it a wiser and a better man. 



PSYCHOLOGIC AnRJCTIOK. 



The word Psychol 02:7 is derived from the 
Greek if^vxn, signifying the soul, spirit, or mind, 
in its widest sense ; and embraces under it the 
brandies of Rhetoric ; Logic; Phrenics, or 
Mental Philosophy ; Ethics, or Moral Philoso- 
phy ; and Education. It comprehends, there- 
fore, that important study inculcated by 
Thale?,the ancient sage of Miletus ; knoiu thy- 
self, (Tvcodi (jEavTov) • inscribed on the temple 
of Apollo, at Delphi. It stops not, however, at 
the boundaries of ancient or classic wisdom ; 
but soaring at once to the source of all intel- 
lectual truth, the book of Divine Revelation, 
it there derives sublimer views of the nature 
and destiny of man, and may be considered as 
introductory to all the divisions of human 
knowledge ; since the mind is the agent which 
embraces and pursues them all. Thus, Psy- 
chology is the immediate basis of the studies 
of Law, Government, and Religion; 

Among the many historical personages who 
understood, in a measure, the principles of Psy- 
chology, and were in the full tide of successful 
l^ractice, we will commence with the ancient 
Astrologers, Priests, Soothsayers, Magicians, 
&c. By adverting to the history of the primi- 
tive ages of the world, we find many of these 
men were possessors and practitioners- of Psy- 
chology ; and they often, as it was thought, per- 
formed remarkable cures of diseases, l;hrough 
Charms, Incantations, Magic, &c., as well as 
by Herbs and Roots. History hands us down 

47 



48 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

these most remarkable records, that Acribides, 
an Astro]o<2;er, who lived ia Damascus, pre- 
dicted, by his art, the overflow of the Euphra- 
tes ten successive times, and the destruction of 
Tripoli by fire — that Castimeuo Talliasi, a Priest 
of Rome, by distilling an ethereal vapor from 
the spleen of the Bison, mixed with the ex- 
pressed juice of the Manioc, or Cassava Root, 
and then sprinkled on the paralyzed, the deaf, 
palsied, and sick, he cured. His reputation 
and influence spread with such rapidity, that 
crowds arrived from all parts of the world to 
witness and be benefited. He vcas ultimately 
destroyed, while sleeping-, by auassassin pour- 
ing molten lead in his ear. It'%as supposed 
his death was instigated by the Church, who 
feared his influence over the people. Again, 
Jacobi Mans, another Priest, was poisoned by 
Catherine de ]\ledicis, for inventing -a subtile 
Ether, which he gave to one of th6 ladies of 
the Queen's Court, which animated those who 
partook of its odors, and rendered their fea- 
tures beauteous. In consequence of Mans re- 
fusing to give Her Majesty the secret of its 
raao-ical mixtures, there is no doubt he. was 
secretly poisoned by her einissaries. Of the 
Soothsayt-rs very little is known, except that 
they existed and were believed in from the very 
earliest history of the world; and those who 
read the Book of Daniel will find sufficient to 
convince them. Thousands, and tens of thous- 
ands, of individuals of the present day, haye 
received and believed in the truths of the Gyp- 
sies, or Wandering Tribes, who have no fixed 
habitation, but roam from one end of the 
world to the other. At a later period we find, 
as science progressed, the Magicians, who com- 
bined in themselves all the knowledge of their 
predecessors, with that of the later magic. Wc 
find Sylvestus apparently as yountr at four hun- 
dred years, as a man at twenty-five ; and Zol- 



PSYCnOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 49 

lick, when chased by King Torlobosk, who 
ordered him to be destroyed, appearins; in three 
cities in Asia in one day, namely, Mecca, in 
Arabia, Irlvutsk, in Siberia, and Lassa, in 
Thibet. Ralsquel was destroyed in England, 
for making gold ; Lemanuel, in Sweden, for 
possessing the King's nephew with a spirit ; 
and later on, Frankenstein, in Germany, who 
made a man that was so monstrous, that he 
nltimately destroyed him. 

It is now over half a century since the city 
of Paris was thrown into the wildest state of 
excitement by the astounding effects produced 
by a person who called himself Mesmer. 
Whether this was a real or assumed name is 
quite a matter of indifference ; suffice it to say, 
that he was the first to establish that doctrine 
known as iVlesraerism, and which, at the pres- 
ent day, is familiar to us as Animal Magnetisai, 
Electro-Biology, &c. It appears, from what 
we are able to gather, that upon tlie first arri- 
val in Paris of Mesmer, he occupied obscure 
lodgings outside the Barrier, or beyond the 
limits of the city. Here he first began a prac- 
tice for the cure of some diseases, particularly 
those of a meutal and nervous nature, which 
will hand down his name for aires hence. 
Having performed a series of cures without 
any internal medicament, many of the people 
began to invest him with celestial jDowers, whilt 
the greater number credited him with being in 
league with a nameless individual, whose sala- 
manderic propensities towards fire and sulphur 
are well understood. Men of learning and hiuii 
pretension listened with incredulity, and oth- 
ers did not hesitate in scouting these popular 
rumors, and crying charlatan. All this time 
the rooms of Mesmer were crowded by visitors 
clamorous to be restored to health, or to witness 
the proceedings and manipulations of the man ; 
in fact, so great Iiecame the mob that officers 



50 PSTCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

•were stationed at convenient points in the 
neighborliood, to i-estrain the people's impetu- 
osity. Mesmer not only cured many diseases, 
but spoke truly of circumstances that were 
occurring to persons in parts far remote. This 
only added to the excitement, and his name 
and acts became the sole topic of conversation, 
not only in the cafe and lodging of the artisan, 
but in the saloons of nobility, and even in the 
Tuilleries of the King. Many of the aristoc- 
racy were anxious to secure ttie services of tliis 
man, but a sense of ridicule, or fear of being 
imposed upon, and consequently becoming the 
butt of the Avhole Court, restrained them ; and 
none cared to take the initiatory step until the 
the old Viscountess of Gouchelain, -who had 
been suffering for many years from a partial 
paralysis, concluded to see this ninth wonder, 
Mesmer. She called upon him, and by the 
exercise of his art, and a rude voltaic pile, in 
six weeks Madame not only entirely recovered 
from the disease under which she labored, but 
seemed to have acquired a new lease of her life. 
Mesmer having now firmly obtained a warrant 
for the recognition of the nobility, was waited 
upon by a deputation of high oflicials, and in- 
vited to take up his residence in a magnificent 
building, the property of the government, lo- 
cated in the Place la Concord. Here he took 
pupils and instructed them in his theory, as 
the number that daily visited him was so great 
that it was impossible for him to more than 
superintend them. The carriages of princen, 
dukes, prelates, generals and ministers might be 
daily seen before his door, who waited for 
hours to obtain an interview, which frequently 
on that day only resulted in failure. The 
means employed by Mesmer in bringing about 
these remarkable results, was, according to his 
own statements, which are considered satlyfac- 
tory, that he only exercised within himself a 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 51 

deterniined will upon another incliviclimal, male 
or female, which threw them into a state of 
physical incapacity, leaving- the mentality free 
scope ; that is to say, to chain the body and let 
the mind remain free. Whenever he strongly 
exercised this will or determination, he gener- 
ally succeeded in producing this result, and 
then, by guiding the thoughts of the individual 
in whatever direction he thought proper, by 
his own determined mental ^vlU—he would 
ask them verbally what questions he desired ; 
and if he received from those who were in a 
state of coma, unsatisfactory replies, he would 
carry their mind in an opposite direction, and 
through every point of the compass, until they 
were enabled to discover the person or persons 
he was desirous of obtaining a knowledge of, 
or the scenes that were being enacted by indi- 
viduals or communities in countries far distant. 
For diseases he merely applied his electrical or 
galvanic batteries to the patient, and then put- 
ting them to sleep by first taking the two hands 
of the patient in his, placing the points of his 
thumbs opposite to theii's, and look them stead- 
fastly in the eyes the whole time, determining 
in his mind, that they shotild become comatose, 
or sleep, and at the same time mentall}'^ deter- 
mining that the nervousness, or whatever the 
disease might be, should be cured ; continuing 
this vMl during the whole period that he was 
Avith the patient, both before and after sleeinng. 
Though, after this latter phenomena took 
place, he dropped the hand, made j^asses by 
carrying his hands over the eyebrows, fore- 
head, and the points of his fingers down the 
patient's arms. 

Mesmer frequently remarked, that in chronic 
diseases, he suffered himself from similar 
symptoms to which the person had labored 
under, for severtil days after the patient had 
recovered. {This^ no doubt, was sympathy.) 



53 ' PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

The practice of Mesmer was not confined to 
the city of Paris ; he received hundreds of let- 
ters daily, some enclosing a glove, a necker- 
chief, a ring, and even a lock of false hair, 
describing their disease. These he magnetized 
by his witl and returned to their writers ; and 
in the majority of cases he cured, or relieved the 
diseases, particularly those of a neuralgic char- 
acter. About this time, when Mesmer and Mes- 
merism was in the zenith of its popularity, its 
founder was killed by the running away of 
his horses, and the precipitating of his carriage 
over an embankment, which crushed him, and 
he died instantly. Thus, unfortunately, de- 
stroying a useful, benevolent and good man, 
who, no doubt, had he lived, would have devel- 
oped the science of animal magnetism to what 
it is, at least, at the present day, if not beyond. 
However, he left many industrious pupils who 
are now laboring in the same field. The late 
Cardinal Wiseman, by the power of his will 
alone, could psychologize a whole congregation 
at one time, and hold them spell-bound. He 
made more converts to the Church of Rome, 
probably, than any other man in England ; and 
it was all owing to his psychological powers. 
He was undoubtedly a learned man, but as an 
orator, was inferior to the most ordinary 
speakers ; and he attributed his success, in a 
great measare, to his knowledge of Psychology. 
ISpencer, the celebrated author of the Princi- 
ples of Psychology, says it is possible to psy- 
cholgize a person a thousand miles away ; in 
fact, distance is not an object. The atmos- 
phere, he maintains, is a conductor of sound, 
light, and mental electricity ; hence the mind 
can, in an instant, revert to scenes, persons, or 
iplaces thousands of miles away. He mentions 
an instance, where a person living in Melbourne, 
Australia, was compelled, as he himself says, 
to return to England, by the psychological 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 53 

power of a brother, arrested on a charge of 
forgery, and whose presence was necessary to 
acquit his brother. He arrived in En<rland 
three months earlier than he would otherwise 
have done, had he been summoned by letter. 
He did not know why he returned, but, as he 
himself avers, he felt compelled by some un- 
known power to return immediately. 

There are many well-authenticated tokens 
of death, some of which, no doubt, have come 
under the observation of the reader, perfectly 
incomprehensible. A gentleman of my ac- 
quaintance, very skeptical on this subject, left 
his home in the midland counties of England, 
expecting to return in a year, at furthest, and 
sailed for America; arrived, without accident, 
in New Orleans. His object was to purchase 
land in Louisiana. In six weeks after his ai-ri- 
val, travelling with a friend, thej' visited some 
of the Red river settlements. One evening, 
he arrived at a place called Johnson's Lauding, 
(a mere clearing in the canehrakes,) contain- 
ing but one house, used as an hotel. Here they 
were sitting, waiting for supper, when the bell 
of a steamboat commenced ringing, prepara- 
tory to stopping, on its way to New Orleans. 
The gentleman astonished his friend by jump- 
ing up, seizing his valise, and rushing down to 
the steamboat landing, saying as he went, 
" Don't stop me, I must go ; my mother calls 
me — there is something the matter at home." 
All the persuasions and arguments of his 
friend, who followed him on board the boat, 
could not prevail on him to alter his mind, and 
he I eturned to New Orleans, leaving the busi- 
ness which brought him to America untiuished, 
took passage on the first steamer he could get, 
and returned to England. On arriving home, 
he found his mother dead and buried ; her last 
words were calling on her son to come to her. 
By comparing the date, time, and the difference 



54 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

in latitude, it was discovered that she called to 
him. at the exact time he was at Johoson's 
Lauding, and the steamboat bell was ringing. 
This cannot be accounted for except on the 
hypothesis that the son was accidentally think- 
ing of his mother, and she of him, at that 
identical time ; the atmosphere being the con- 
ductor of the magnetism of the mind, he be- 
came immediately psychologized by the earnest 
will of his mother, and, as he himself ex- 
presses it, he was forced by some unseen power 
to act as he did.* 

The principles of Psychology not only apply 
to persons, but likewise to animals, as the fol- 
lowing incident will show. I mention this one, 
as the newspapers at the time gave a full ac- 
count, of it : In the year 1850 I was at Leaming- 
ton, in England, where I delivered two lectures 
on Psychology. A committee of gentlemen 
proposed, after the second lecture, I should pay 
a visit to Wombwell's menagerie, then stopping 
in that place, to try my powers on some of the 
animals. At ten o'clock in the evenins: the 
beasts were fed. Arriving ten minutes before 



* It was Mesmer's theory, that the universe is sub- 
merged in an eminently siibtile flaid, which lie thought 
should be named auimal-magaetic fluid, because it 
can be compared to the fluid of the magnet ; that this 
flnid iiupregnates all bodies, and transmits to tliem 
the impression of motion ; that it insinuates itself 
into, and circulates through, all the fibres of tlie 
nervous system ; and that it may be accumulated, 
when the magnetizer wills it, in buckets, tubs, kc, 
and especially in the organs of the magaetizer who 
transmits it to the magnetized. This hypothetical 
fluid will remind the classical reader of the "chain 
uniting all beings" of Hesiod, and the "soul of the 
world " of Plato. 

Grove says, in his "Correlation and Continuity," 
p. 161, the universe is a vast whispering gallery, a 
boundless system of correlated influences; and the 
soul of man has the eternal freedom of the infinite 
*' mansions." 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION-. 55 

tMs time, I passed four of the cae:es in revie-n^, 
and subjected the two lions, a jackal, and a 
Bengal tiger to psychological influence. The 
animals were, at this time, very savage and 
ravenous, as is usual at feeding time. To the 
surprise of all, the four animals refused to 
move, but lay crouching in their cages, not 
noticing the food given to them. The propri- 
etor and keeper became alarmed, fearing they 
were sick. I suggested the keeper should enter 
some of the cages and examine his charges. 
This he refused, saying it was more than his 
life was worth to go in at feeding time. I 
then requested permission which, (after ex- 
plaining the influence the animals were under,) 
was readily granted ; and, like a second Daniel, 
I entered the lions' den. The huge beasts took 
no notice of me whatever. Then I approached 
them and subjected both to further influence, 
when they commenced to play with me, skip- 
ping and jumping like two kittens. After 
leaving the den I removed the spell, and they 
were as savage and noisy as ever. Hundreds 
witnessed this performance, which took place 
on the 13th day of November, 1850. I do not 
wish to question the fact of Daniel's escape 
from the lions' den being performed by a mir- 
acle of the Almighty, but as Daniel was con- 
sidered, in those days, a wise man, who shall 
say his escape might not be attributed more to 
his psychological powers than anything else? 
Ihousands exert this influence unknown, even 
to themselves. In this treatise I propose to 
shoAv that all have this power, and can exert it 
at will, so as to control the mind of any person 
they choose ; it is very simple, easily performed, 
and is as reliable as any other known principle 
of science. It is nothing new, but was known 
and practised centuries ago, though looked 
upon as the effects of magic and supernatural 
agency, and it has only been within the last 



56 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

few years that this extraordinary mental power 
has been rightly understood, and reduced to 
the unerring- principles of science. The fact of 
the influence of one human being upon another, 
under certain conditions, througli passes of 
the hand, or by the simple exercise of the will, 
was known and practised long before Mesmer 
introduced the subject anew to public atten- 
tion. Recent discoveries at Pompeii show that 
it was known there centuries ago. Plautus, in 
"Amphitryo," makes one of his characters 
ask, "How if I stroke him slowly with the 
hand, so that he sleeps 1" These magnetic 
means of cure were not only practised, but 
directions for them were inscribed on sacred 
tables and pillars, and illustrated by pictures 
on the temple walls, so as to be intelligible to 
all. Apuleius furnishes similar evidences of 
the ordinary practice by the Pomans of mag- 
netic manipulations. In Livy alone, there 
are more than fifty instances in which he 
refers to the literal fulfilment of dreams, or- 
acles, proiinostics by seers, &c. The Egyp- 
tians believed in the efficacy of charms, spells, 
incantations, love-powders, drinks, &c., and 
Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, it is said, fas- 
cinated Mark Anthony by administering to 
him a love-potion, one of the parts of which 
it was composed is supposed to have been the 
heart of a toad reduced to a powder. Be this 
as it may, it is certain this woman was pos- 
'sessed of extraordinary power, so much so 
that no man could come near her (unless she 
chose) without being fascinated on the spot ; 
and what is most wonderful, (though po,-ts 
laud her as being very beautiful), impartial 
history tells us, though she was not entirely 
destitute of personal charms, she was extremely 
gross and vulgar. I do not wish my readers to 
put any faith in the practices of the Egyptians, 
as appertaining to supernatural influence ; on 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTKACriON. 57 

the contrary, tliere is no eflBcacy whatever in 
pretended love-powders, charms, spells, &e. 
But, at the same time, it must be borne in 
mind that there is a power in the human con- 
stitution, and many classes of the brute crea- 
tion besides, (the snake, for instance,) to fas- 
cinate certain persons, even against the will of 
the persons themselves. This is Psychologic 
Attraction. 

How many feel irresistibly drawn, as it were, 
to admire and often love a person they have 
never spoken to ! This is called love at first 
sight ; and very often that person may be des- 
titute of any particular personal beauty. We 
form a good opinion of an individual without 
ourselves being aware of any cause for it. 
This cannot be explained by the most learned 
and scientific men only on the principle of 
" psychologic attraction," which is the simple 
secret of Cleopatra's success, and the ceremonies 
she may have added were only to give effect 
and mystify her follov/ers. I claim that Psy- 
chology is the principle of Fascination, Spirit- 
ualism, and Mesmerism ; I also maintain, that 
any person of ordinary intelligence can exert 
this influence on any one they wish, securing 
their love, respect, or confidence in return, pro- 
viding, they shall themselves first love the 
person they wish to be loved by in return, as it 
is an established principle in psychology that 
you cannot impart to others what you do not 
possess yourself. The conditions are simple 
and easy, so that the unscientific reader may 
comprehend, acquire, and exert this extraordi- 
nary power in a few minutes ; and, Avhat is 
more, it being of a mental character, it can be 
produced without the person to whom it is ap- 
plied being at all aware of the influence exer- 
cised over them by one of the simple, beautiful, 
and at the same time, most subtle elements of 
our mental nature, "psychologic attraction." 



58 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

This is no abstract theory, but a reliable scien- 
tific experiment, producing these results as 
a matter of necessity. I propose to instruct 
my readers in this science, so it shall avail 
them for the ordinary purposes of every-day 
life ; the merchant can use it in his business ; 
the doctor, to benetit his patients ; the clergy- 
man, for the good of his congregaiion ; the 
dealer, to sell his goods ; the parent, lor the ad- 
vancement of his children ; and the lover, to 
gain the confidence of his mistress. To the 
latter class especially I will now appeal. 

1 am fully aware that many will read this 
book from idle curiosity, and Avithout any se- 
rious thoughts of availing themselves, for prac- 
tical purposes, of its advantages. Those who 
do so, I beg will give the following remarks 
on this important subject their earnest cou- 
Bideration — for instance, there is no subject 
so grossly mismanaiicd as courtship and mat- 
rimony. Yv^'hy should it be so ? It is in the 
power of all to marry happily who love truly, 
irrespective of wealth, age or beauty. ' Tis 
true, some consider one or the other of these 
are requisite to their happiness ; but it is a false 
position. Beauty fades, and riches flee away; 
and when marriage is entered into, based upon 
either, love, which was at first only a minor 
consideration, becomes lost, and unhappiness 
is the result. It is important, therefore, that 
marriage should be based on hii^her considera- 
tions than beauty, or riches. It is important 
for our happiness and well-being that a partner 
suitable to oiu- various pursuits or conditions 
in life should be obtained, who will enter into 
and sympathize with us in all the various joys 
and sorrows it may be our lot to have, and 
•whose thoughts, feelings, and aspirations har- 
monize with our own ; and when it is the mis- 
fortune of any one to be tied for life to a person 
"Who cannot do so, who, in fact, is ttie opposite 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 59 

of your wishes, how miserable will your life be. 
Think of it, you who are young in life ; it is 
no idle matter, as all who have had experience 
will testify ; but it should be calmly considered, 
and discretion used in j'our choice. We are 
very familiar with the usual manner of court- 
ship and forming acquaintances ; very few look 
out for a partner upon philosophical principles ; 
they do not look to the mind and qualities of 
the person they are seeking to marry — they 
often admire the outward person, and fancy 
they love, and do not find out their error until 
it is too late. 

Many often see the one they would wish to 
have as a partner in life, and in many instances 
become personally acquainted with one whom 
they feel could make them supremely blest, one 
possessed of those attractions of mind and 
peculiar talents sought after in the suitor, and 
which they feel would render their life serene 
and happy until death. They feel that, with 
such a one, life would be one long summer's 
day, where, in the rosy garden of love, with 
nought to mar their blissful dreams, they'd 
pass the golden hours in dreams of ecstatic 
bliss. They may meet others in the festive 
hall or social circle, but one, the bright partic- 
ular star, alone hath the power to fill the void, 
one ever sought after, and in some instances 
the lucky suitor gains the prize, and marries 
the idol of his soul, and life-long happiness is 
the result. But more often, from some untow- 
ard circumstance, or from lack of suflB.cient 
tact in his love-making, the coveted prize slips 
from his grasp into the hands of some more 
apt and successful rival, who better under- 
stands the art of pressing his suit, (or, as is 
often the case, has become acquain.ied ivitJi 
this extraordinary science of " Psyohologt," 
and, by using this wonderful mental power, 
has won against all obstacles), and the rejected 



60 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

suitors, disappointed in marvying the only 
one that could make life happy, marry whom 
they can. Such is the case in thousands of 
instances, and our readers, no doubt, can 
recall many of the kind in their own circle 
of ac(iuaintances, and possibly may themselves 
have passed through the painful experience. 
What an inestimable blessing, then, is a knowl- 
edge of this wonderful science, which an All- 
M'ise Providt n?e has seen fit to implant in each 
human breast, and although tmdtrstood by few, 
yet cell are endowed with this God-like gift, and 
although man has often (as in the case of the 
libertine and seducer) peiwerted this power 
from the legitimate and holy end intended it by 
the great Creator, to gratify their base passions, 
still it has been the cause of many true and 
happy marriaoes, and brought peace and con- 
tentment to thousands. 

It may be asked, if all are possessed of this 
science, why are not all successful ? 1 answer, 
all are possessed of, but few are aware of it, and 
of course do not understand its use. A great 
many are very successful in love affairs that 
are totally unaware of the existence in them- 
selves of this extraordinary mental power, but 
attribute their success to other causes, such as 
personal beauty, a pleasing exterior, an easy, 
persuasive address, &c., when it is nothing but 
the UHConsciotts working of this inborn gift of 
Psychologic Attraction, which is so very 
strong in some as to attract of its own accord ; 
then how much more successful might they 
be, did they but understand this method of 
using it ? 

I will now proceed to show how the operation 
is to be performed, hoping to make myself as 
intelligible to the reader as possible, explaining 
at the same time, Mesmerism and Spiritualism, 
according to the theory most reasonable, that 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 6T 

the phenomenon is accounted for without any 
supernatural agency. 

As a matter" of course, this portion of the 
argument is addressed only to such as believe 
in the phenomena of Psychology. To those 
who are yet so far behind the great age in 
which they live as to doubt or sneer at mag- 
netism and psycholoo-ical science, all that has 
been said or will be said by the writer, can be 
of no use. Such persons have yet to learn the 
a b c of that great science which lies at the 
basis of all others, and is the most important 
of them all. 

In order to make it plain that Psychology 
does afford scientific and conclusive proof of 
the power of mind to communicate with mind, 
it will be necessary to refer to some of the 
familiar and ordinary phenomena of animal 
magnetism. Those phenomena may be di- 
vided into two classes : 

1. Profoimd abstraction, magnetic sleep, and 
insensibility to all external influences. 

2. Sympathetic attraction. 

Attention is more particularly requested to 
the second class; namely, sympathetic attrac- 
tion. The subject, while in this state, is almost 
entirely under the control of the operator. No 
vocalization of the will of the positive o2:)erator 
is required to induce obedience in the negative 
stibject. The simple concentration of the un- 
spoken will is all that is required to direct and 
control the subject. So great is thes^^mpathy 
induced between the two, that the will of the 
one acts freely upon the muscular system of 
the other, and compels him to rise up, sit 
down, -walk, stand, or talk, according to the 
volition of the operator. The nervous systems 
of the two are united by a constant interchange 
of the odic fluids. The result of this intimate 
union and sympathy between the operator and 
the subject is, that the thoughts of the one are 



63 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTIO^r. 

known to the other. An idea evolved in the 
mind of the operator, though unapoken, imme- 
diately becomes present in the mind of the 
subject. But you will remember that the will 
of the operator also has control of the muscu- 
lar system of the subject. Hence, no sooner 
is the idea of the operator present in the mind 
of the subject, should the operator avIU that 
idea to be spoken by the subject, than the sub- 
ject is compelled to speak it. In other words, 
the operator, for the expression of his own si- 
lent thoughts, can use the vocal organs of the 
subject. 

Example. — A, in the presence of C, mag- 
netizes B, and throws him into a state of coma. 
This being done, A silently thinks in his own 
mind these words : " Good-evening, friend C." 
Now, by virtue of the sympathy established 
between the operator A and the ,mbject B, those 
words are immediately impressed upon the 
mind of B, and become present there. A now 
silently wills B to speak those words, which B 
is compelled to do ; and so be turns to C, and 
says, " Good-eveuing, friend C." Thus you 
perceive A, instead of using his own organs of 
speech, has employed those of B. In other 
words, A has been speaking to C through the 
mind. This is an experiment which I have re- 
peatedly performed with success. 

It will be observed that the physical organism 
of the operator was not employed in the above ex- 
periment. The operator used two things only : 
first, his will ; second, an odic force, or vital 
fluid,* which was controlled and directed by 



* This word odic is derived from the Greek 6oof, a 
way or passage. Eeicheuhach gave the name oil to 
what be conceived to be the force producing the phe- 
nomena of mesmerism, and developed by various 
agencies, as by magnets, heat, light, chemical or vital 
action. The terms udyle, or the udijllic or odic force, 
were thought preferable by his English disciples. 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. b6 

his will, and made the agent for the transmis- 
sion of his thoughts and commands to the 
subject. 

It is evident, therefore, that the operator can 
control and speal^ through B, provided he yet 
retain the power of volition and the command 
of the odic force. 

This a^rent that serves to put the soul in 
connection witli the mental organization has 
been termed spiritual magnetism, in contra- 
distinction to animal magnetism. 

•This, then, is the true philosophy of the 
method by which the mind controls through 
media, called sympathetic attraction : the oper- 
ator uses his will, and the odic force evolved 
from his physical organism, and the subject 
instinctively obeys the controlling mind of the 
oiDerator. 

By the term Psychology, I mean the power 
to psychologize and win the affection, love, 
and esteem of any person on whom this exper- 
iment may be tried. This power can be at- 
tained by the action of a positive controlling 
mind, concentrated on a mind that is passive 
or negative, with a determination and desire to 
win the affections, even against the wishes of 
the person on whom the operation is performed. 
Psychology, it will be observed, is based on 
the same principles as Mesmerism and Spirit- 
ualism. In Mesmerism, the operator, by a pe- 
culiar manipulation called making "passes," 
which consists in passing the hand frequently 
before the eyes of the person he wishes to mes- 
merize, thereby placing the patient in a mes- 
meric sleep or trance ; the operator having a 
strong positive organism, controls and inslils 
into the mind of the patient his own views, 
wliims, or caprices, making him sing, dance, 
or perform any antic the positive mind of the 
mesmerist shall desire. In like manner, the 
phenomenon of Spiritualism is easily accounted 



64 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

for : a number of persons sit around a table, 
placing their hands on the same, forming a 
connecting circle, quickly charging the table 
with a current of magnetic electricity, which 
emanates from the bodies of the persons around 
the table. This is the motive power which 
causes the table to move, rap, or revolve. The 
minds of those composing this circle become 
absorbed with the fact that the table is moving, 
which to them is iucomprehensible. Under 
the impression that some spirit, as it is claimed, 
or other supernatural influence, is the cause of 
this, their thoughts naturally turn to friends 
absent, or dead, and remain insensible to every 
other object, their minds becoming perfectly 
passive ; the strongest or most positive mind 
present at once becomes the medium, and cou- 
trols the will of each individual, together with 
the magnetism moving the table, which at 
once naturally raps oat any suggestion the 
strong, positive mind of the medium desires, 
and the answers obtained are only a reflection 
of the mind of the medium, his being the pos- 
itive mind controlling the magnetism and 
minds of all present alike. The intelligence 
composing the answers made by the table is 
only a reflection of one or more of the ideas 
or wishes of some one composing the circle sit- 
ting at the table. There is not one well- 
authenticated instance Avhere reliable answers 
are made, or any question answered outside of 
what is known already by some person forming 
the company at the table. The same also ap- 
plies where the answers are made by writing, 
or in any other manner. 

The science of Psychology consists in mind 
attracting mind by its own volition alone, aided 
by the animal magnetism of the system, and a 
concentrated, determined pur^jose and desire 
of subjecting the person to the will and wishes 
of the party performing the experiment. The 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 65 

knowledge of being in possession of this latent 
power will enable the person performing the 
opeiation to acquire the necessary controlling, 
positive mind, while the one on whom it is to 
be tried, and whose aifections or confidence you 
wish to gain, being ignorant of the operator 
intending to subject them to this mighty influ- 
ence, is, as a matter of necessity, quite passive, 
and easily controlled, receiving any impression 
of love, esteem, awe, confidence, or respect, as 
also fear, distrust, or envy ; whatever feeling, 
in fact, the concentrated purpose of the posi- 
tive mind desires to instil into the passive 
mind, can be instantly placed there by the 
effort of a strong, determined will. The con- 
ditions necessary to inspire h^ve and confidence 
are as follows : You must first love and esteem 
the person you wish to be loved and esteemed 
by in return, as you cannot give to another 
what you do not possess yourself; hence, if 
you love a person you may, by this power, 
make that person love you in exact proportion. 
As the concentration of the rays of light, with 
the aid of a camera, instantly produces a pho- 
tographic likeness of any ob'ect, however intri- 
cate, so, in like manner, the steady concentra- 
tion of mind upon mind, with a determination 
to win the affections and create love, will 
instantly produce a corresponding feeling of 
love on a mind passive and negative. 

Having explained the theory of Psychology, 
in order to make the unscientific reader familiar 
with the principles here laid down, I will pre- 
sume then that you are acquainted with a person 
whose affections or confidence you are desirous 
of gaining. The operation is performed as 
follows : Take one or both of the person's 
hands in your own, gently pressing the palm 
till you feel the pulse beat ; be particular to 
find this pulse, as it connects with the sympa- 
thetic cords leading direct to the heart, this 



66 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

beins: the conductor conveying the ma^etism 
of love from your mind to the other. (You 
may easily determine the exact place and pres- 
sure of the pulse by feeling for your own in a 
corresponding place.) Then look steadily an 1 
earnestly into the eyes, instantly concentrat- 
inir your mind on theirs, mentally ofterina: your 
entire love and affection, or any other emotion 
you wish, at the same time desiring, with a 
violent effort of the will, that the person shall 
love you in return ; let your determination be 
firm and positive to command their affections, 
feeling confident that you can inspire them 
with a sincere regard and love for yourself, 
making their wishes and desires the same as 
your own. All this can be accomplished with 
the velocity of thought, durina; the ordinary 
time occupied in shaking hands. You will 
perceive the person will make no disposition 
to move till you loose the hand, being com- 
pletely magnetized. This will give you ample 
lime for firmly concentrating your mind and 
exerting your will upon them. A slight trem- 
bling of the hand is the signal that the individ- 
ual is under magnetic influence. In some 
cases a slight faintness seizes on the one mag- 
netized, which passes away almost instantly. 
Same persons are more impressible than others, 
and can be influenced by merely placing the 
hand on any part of the person, enabling the 
current of ma<i-netism to make a connection, 
and flow uninterruptedly from the positive to 
the passive mind ; but the surest plan is that 
described above, making the success of the 
operation certain. 

By the power of psychologic attraction it is 
claimed that any impression can be instilled into 
the passive mind in the same manner, provid- 
ing the operator has the necessary conditions, 
namely : a strong positive will and a firm faith 
in his own abilities to impart the impression 



PSYCHOLOGIC A.TTKACTION. 67 

desired, and possesses himself the feeling he 
wishes to instil into another. The reasonable- 
ness of this theory of producing love and con- 
fidence by psychologic attraction is apparent 
to all who have given the subject a thought. 
Take, for example, the ordinary way in which 
young persons become attached to each other ; 
in nine cases out of ten the magnetic influence 
of love is communicated while the parties are 
shaking hands ; being in actual contact with 
each other, the magnetism of love is dissemi- 
nated instantaneously, both being passive at 
the time. What, then, must be the certain 
effect when one of the parties exerts this 
mighty power of mind, offering love and de- 
manding love in return ? The heart is so con- 
stituted that love is a necessity, and all are 
more or less inclined to love those whom they 
are convinced will love them in return. This 
system of Psychology appeals direct to the 
heart, love is offered, and love is instinctively 
returned as a matter of necessity. The heart 
finds its affinity, and is happy in the enjoyment 
thereof; hence the experiment is both lawful 
and legitimate. 

Before trying to perform this operation, be 
careful to practise as much as possible a con- 
centrating of the powers of the mind on this 
subject, so as to make you familiar and expert 
in instantly fixing your will on the object to be 
attained. Whenever you have acquired some 
proficiency in this, you may safely try the 
experiment. The best time to choose is the 
evening, as the mind and muscular action of 
the body are more passive and impressible then, 
though it may be successfully performed at 
any other time. Any place will suffice, pro- 
vided you can be eollented and easy, observing 
the usual modes of etiquette, salutations, etc., 
which will not interfere in the least with the 
success of the operation. One or two precau- 



68 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 

tions, however, are essentially necessary : never 
hint, before or after, that you are acquainted 
"with this power ; if yon were to meation you 
intended to subject a person to this influence, 
their mind would be positive, and antagonistic 
to your own, and the operation prove a failure. 
It is only by keeping the person passive (which 
they will be if they do not suspect your pur- 
pose) that success is possible. Take your 
leave as soon as you can convenicLitly do so 
after the operation is performed, as it will be 
the best means of making the person feel the 
loss of your society, and a desire to see you 
again. A kind of restlessness comes over the 
mind of the person influenced, who will seek 
every opportunity to become better acquainted 
with one who in future will occupy much of 
their thoughts, having no suspicion of the real 
cause why they are so interested. 

To men of business and the general public I 
must now appeal, and especially to those who 
wish to apply psychologic attraction to busi- 
ness purposes, such as selling goods, obtaining 
the confidence of the community, and bettering 
their condition in life by obtaining wealth and 
consequent prosperity. 

A great deal has been written by interested 
parties on the corruptibility of riches ; about 
money being the root of all evil ; that riches 
do not make happiness ; that poor people are 
happier than rich; that gold is a curse, and 
the cause of ci'ime, &c. Now all this looks 
very well in theory, but who among my read- 
ers does not know that the very opposite is the 
result, and those who talk so much and preach 
so persistently on the curse of gold, are them- 
selves very anxious to secure as much of this 
root of evil as possible for themselves and 
their families. Money is not a curse, but a 
blessing. Riches is the reward of mankind, 
the hope of all, and Providence intended it to 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 69 

be so, and those only are happy (as far as 
happiness in this world goes) wlio, if they are 
not exactly rich, have at least a sufliciency to 
make them contented. Poverty is the curse of 
the world ; poverty is in nine cases out of ten 
the cause of crime ; poverty fills our prisons and 
almshouses ; poverty makes a man a forger, a 
drunkard and a murderer ; poverty is brutal- 
izing in its effects, makes good men bad ones, 
and steals the crown of innocence (woman's 
virtue) from a pure heart, leaving in place 
shame, disgrace, agony, indignation, broken 
hearts, iufmticide, and often the death of the 
unfortunate victims themselves. The thief and 
criminal were not born such ; and the poor, be- 
trayed, outraged — unfortunate — little more, very 
often, than a child in years, nestled once in its 
mother's arms, pure and innocent as the white 
robed angels, who slug before the throne of 
God. What made the one a murderer, another 
a thief, and so on through the whole catalogue 
of crime ? I say, poverty, will be as a rule, the 
general answer. The rich, by nature, are no 
better than the poor, but they have not the 
temptation to steal, having plenty without ; 
they are surrounded with riches, lusury, re- 
finement, learning, intelligence, and the fine 
arts, and they have no inducement to commit 
robbery and crime. Poverty makes nieu coarse, 
vulgar, profane, brutal, and lost to all shame, 
while on the contrary wealth is a ivilizei-, re- 
fines the mind by education and those eleiiaut 
surrouudiugs that money only can purchase. 

To understand psychologic attraction is to 
understand how to secure wealth and happi- 
ness, and is ot incalculable benefit to all classes 
of the community. 

A firm concentration of a positive control- 
■LiNG WILL on a person passive, and conse- 
quently easily impressed, will do more in 
selling goods, obtaining favors, ani gaining 



70 PSYCHOLOGIC ATTKACTION. 

confidence, than the combined efforts of a 
dozen men, who use only argument and oblig- 
ing manners. The clergyman can accomplish 
more good to his congregation by psychologic 
attraction than by mere persuasive or tlaeo- 
logical discussions. The physician can benefit 
his patients, in many cases, more by his psy- 
chological influence than by medicine, and the 
parent can use it so as to benefit both himself 
and his entire family. 

Id subjecting animals to the human will, by 
psychological influence, a somewhat different 
method is to be pursued. The human mind 
is influenced by kindly feelings ; this applies 
also to many of the domesticated animals, the 
horse, especially, and even he must first be 
thoroughly subdued. Fear of man is the pre- 
vailiag trait in all the brute creation, and it is 
through this fear only they can be subdued. 
The most savage beast will run away sooner 
than encounter a self-possessed, fearless man, 
and it is only when man loses his self-posses- 
sion, and becomes afraid, he is in any danger 
from the most vicious animal. A person who 
can catch the eye and continue their gaze with- 
out flinching, and at the same time speak calmly 
and sternly, has nothing to fear ; and he can, by 
an effort of the will, command the brute in 
everything, and it will instantly obey him. It 
will stand still, lie down, and be very glad to 
get away, though it can not do so, of its own 
accord, till permission is given it by the person 
under whose will it is subjected. There is this 
difference, also, in psychologic influence ex- 
erted on man, and the brute : in man it is last- 
ing and permanent, while in animals it is 
evanescent, and lasts only as long as the ani- 
mal is under the eye of the person subjecting it 
to his will. 

It has often been said psychologic attraction 
can be used for bad or wicked purposes. To 



PSYCHOLOGIC ATTRACTION. 71 

tliis I would say, so can everj'thing else iu 
nature; fire can be used to destroy property, 
poison to destroy life, wine and spirits to in- 
toxicate, and so on. But this is no argument. 
We should not be restricted in their proper 
use, or discard them because of their some- 
time dangerous properties. Psychology can 
not be used for evil purposes, more than any 
other science. A good, correct person will not 
use anything improperly, and a bad one can 
only be restrained by the fear of the conse- 
quences which civilization and law impose on 
evil doers. 

In conclusion, I would say, there are many 
different views as to the best method of exert- 
ing this subtile influence upon the mind, some 
of them, possibly, even better than the plan I 
advocate ; but amongst them all I have found 
none so easily to be understood by the general 
reader, so simple to practise, and so successful 
in results, as the instructions herein mentioned 
in this treatise I have the satisfaction of plac- 
ing before the public'^ 

* General Works on Psychology. — Baxter's In- 
quiry into the Nature of the Human Soul, 2 v. 8vo. ; 
Kirwan's Metaphysical Essays, 1 v. 8vo. ; Bentharri's 
Table of the Springs of Action, 1 v. Svo. ; ScoWs Let- 
ters on Demonology and Witchcraft, 1 v. 12mo. ; 
Karnes' Elements of Criticism, 1 v. 8vo., and Frost's 
School edition, 1 v. 12mo. ; Cousiii's Psychology, or 
Examination of Locke, 1 v. 12mo. ; Ranch's Psycho- 
logy, 1 V. 12mo. 



MY SIDE OF THE STORY. 

Perhaps you have not heard the other side— so 
much the better. If you had, you might have decided 
that I was a selfish, unreasonable woman, with a 
temper always ready to burst through the bars of re- 
straint, like a wild beast. That's what my husband's 
i-elations say — every one of them. And they add that 
I deserve my fate. 

For I am a divorced woman. I sit alone now, in the 
bleak November twilight, and watch the rosy coals 
burn themselves into drear gray ashes, as my hopes 
have done before. . I cannot consume away in silence, 
as poorer natures do. I was not formed to endure, 
but to rule — to dazzle —to enjoy. I am a gifted woman. 
Is that conceit ? I am not conceited — that is a vice of 
shallower minds. I am self-conscious, so I cannot 
suffer in silence. I must wreak my thought upon 
expression, and — speak. 

Scop— I will let you see my journal ; that must be 
the plain, unvarnished truth, any one will admit. 
We do not lie to our journal. No one deceives in his 
diai-y, unless he expects to have it published in his 
memoirs. A journal, generally, is as perfect a photo- 
graph of the mind as the sun can take of the face. 

June 31st. — To-day I have really something to re- 
cord, so I shall begin a diary. I have been asked a 
question— and answered it. Walter Bond asked me 
to marry him, and I havesaid ''Yes." A physicinu 
in a westr-ru town — surely I might have done better. 
But he is handsome, talented, and madly in love. He 
woos me with fancies quaint — he shrines me in glory, 
like a saint. I fancy this fashionable life is growing 
very hollow ; true love, after all, is the secret of hap- 
piness — I am sure it is so. With dear Walter, and 
that scarlet camel's-hair shawl at Stewart's, I shall 
not have a wish ungratifled. And I know he will give 
It to me. 

I am an orphan, and have no real home. My aunt, 
with whom I have lived since I was child, died three 
months ago, and left me a thousand dollars. I did 
not put it out to interest, as prudent people do. ' I in- 
vested it in handsome clothes, and got an invitation 
to spend the summer with Mrs. Ross, in her beautiful 
place at Rye. So hsre I am,.and here, at a kind of a 

73 



74 MY SIDE CWF THE STORY. 

party, "While the players played their best — lamps 
above and laughs below," I received the interest for 
my investment — the offer of a handsome husband and 
a home for life. 

Of course the rooms were all ablaze with lights, but 
Walter drew me away to the conservatory, where all 
was bowery bloom and fragrance, and the moonlight 
on one side, and the gaslight on the other, met and 
mingled over clusters of sa'mon-pink, bloomy-purple, 
or dusk-red blossoms. How handsome he looked 
when beheld up a lily with a laugh, saying: 
"I said to the lily. There is but one 
With whom she has heart to be gay. 
When will the dancers leave her alone? 
She is weary of dance and play." 

Somehow I had an uncomfortable sensation tbathia 
love was of a better quality than mine. Never mind, 
perhaps mine will improve with time, like wine. 

I was rather disappointed at Emma Bond, I must 
say. When Walter whispered to her that, as we had 
been friends so long, he knew she would be glad to 
have me for a sister, she hesitated a moment, and then 
gave me a frosty little kiss withoat speaking. He 
looked surprised, but said nothing. I am not of the 
passive order, however, so I went up stairs with her 
when it was time for her to go home. 

"What do you mean, Emma?" I said, with some 
sharpness, of course; " do you object to your broth- 
er's choice ?" 

She's a fair, gentle-looking creature, but fixed as 
granite. If you'll notice you'll find those blonde, 
baby-faced women the most obstinate and self-willed 
people in the world 

So she just answered quietly, "You know I like 
you, Gertrude, but I don't think you will suit my 
brother." 

" He thinks differently," I answered with some fire. 

" Of course he does now — the strong new wine of 
love, you know," and she actually laughed, I was 
furious. 

" I suppose you will make known your opinions to 
your brother the first opportunity ?" I said. 

"Oh, I've said all I could, Gertrude. I confess to 
you that I have opposed this whole thing, as much for 
your sake as for his." 

" Thank you," I exclaimed, in a tone of mock cour- 
tesy. "And why have you taken so much trouble to 
warn him against a fri&nd you pretended all the time 
to like?" 



MY SIDE OF THE STORY. 75 

" I will tell you, Gertrude," she answered, rrith such, 
a fair, siacere-looking face, and tender blue eyes, that 
any one who only looked at the surface would have 
been deceived. "'You will never be happy together. 
You will never find, in quiet home-duties in a western 
town, the society and excitement you love. Walter 
will not find in you the household angel he expects. 
He would lu ve his own fireside above any other earthly 
spot. You will find it tame and insipid beyond ex- 
pression, and pine for the dance, the music, the lec- 
tures, the play." 

." That will do," I answered, turning coldly away ; 
"prophesy no more dark things; take care of your 
own future and I will take care of mine." 

" Na,j, may God take care of it, Gertrude !" she ex- 
claimed, piously. 

"And I love your brother, Emma Bond; I love 
him — that alters everything." 

1 wonder if it does. Well, it seems so now, and I 
wanted to put down the little upstart. 

July 31st. — What a picture I see from my window ! 
what glory I have beheld to-day! — Niagara, with its 
sheets of emerald water falling, and tender, curving 
lines of creamy spray, all sunset flushed with the 
blood of a dying July sun. How Walter listened, 
with eager eyes, as I murmured a few lines — 
" Here are cool mosses deep. 
And through the moss the ivies creep. 
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 
And from the craggy edge the poppy hangs in sleep." 

"I never cared for poetry before," he murmured 
fondly, " but now I love it, because you do." 

I think he is fearfully practical. I wonder if our 
tastes are at all congenial. If he loves everything 
because I do, we will have no difiiculty ; but perhaps 
he will want me to love everything that he does, 
which would be impossible to a nature like mine, I 
am not the yielding kind — my likings are not written 
in water. 

We came here yesterday, after being married in the 

Ascension Chnr.ch, by Bishop C . It was well and 

gracefully done. Emma brought me a bouquet as a 
peace-offering. I took it, for I may want a favor of 
her someday, and I may forgive her, for I have won. 
The bouquet was not a pure bridal one, however, for a 
sprig of scarlet salvia blazed out of its creamy white- 
ness. Did she mean anything, I wonder? It looked 
so fervid and passionate among the cool, snowy blos- 
soms. We had a splendid day. Such tides of golden 



76 MY SIDE OP THE STORY. 

and purple and crimson light as poured through the 
tinted panes! " Happy the bride the sun shines on," 
I said to Emma as I took her bouquet. Not one bad 
omea, unless — well, it was unpleasant to see such a 
bloated, drunken, disfigured object drawn along by 
the police just as I was entering the church, and to 
know she was a woman. The wretched creature 
called out in a sudden spasm of envy, as she looked at 
me, "Hi, ray lady, it's all roses now ; there's thorns 
coming, and storms and — " what else she might have 
said I don't know, for the policeman forced her on 
with a sudden wrench. 

AuausT 10th. — Home at last — a sweet little home I 
may say — a white house in cottage style, with roses 
and woodbines, etc., climbing about it, just as one 
reads about. A smooth, green lawn in front, with 
pines, and larches, and roses in full bloom. Wajter 
looks around with such infiuite satisfaction when he 
comes home to tea, and I sic at tlie head of the table, 
all in white, with a gay knot or two of ribbon to 
light me up, and he says, " It's a little bit of Eden to 
me ; but I hope," he adds seriously, " that no evil 
serpent of discontent will ever creep in and destroy 
it all." 

I am alone a good deal for Walter is getting into 
good practice; and I want a piano, of coarse. I 
spoke of it to him yesterday, and he hesitated and 
colored. "My love, I should have remembered it, 
knowing your passion for music, but— eh — the fact is, 
that I have spent all my spare money on the place, the 
furnitare, and— that shawl, which was five hundred 
dollars, you know." 

I was ofi'ended, of course. No man oitght to marry 
a musical wife who cannot afford her a pi. mo. And I 
never smother my feelings. I have the great merit of 
being candid and open, so I told him freely what was 
in my mind. " I shall keep no thought from you 
Walter," I said, frankly ; " yoti can always read my 
mind as you would an open book. Home is no home 
to me without a piano. What could you have been 
thinking about? Dou't you know that music softens 
the heart?" 

"And the temper, too. I hope," he said. 

I did not know what he meant, but I went on qui- 
etly: "A piano, Walter, carries with it an atmos- 
phere of ctiltivation wherever it goes " 

But Walter heard no more, for he actually went out 
in the midd e of my sentence, and shut the dour very 
hard. I must finish what I was saying when he 



MY SIDE or THE STORY. 77 

comes home to-night, and also speak of his lack of 
politeness iu leaving my sentence unheard. 

August 26th. — To-day I was startled by a great 
noise— talking and shouting at the door. On looking 
out, I saw a furniture wagon, and my husband super- 
intending the lifting down of a huge oblong box — a 
piano, 1 saw in a moment. I did not go into any rap- 
tures, for I thought that would spoil Walter into 
thinking he had done some great thing. I just sat 
down quietly to my sewing till Walter came panting 
up to tell me about it. '-Ti'Iy love, now I hope you 
will be quite happy." 

I raised my eyes with quiet enquiry. 

"I hdve bought your piano," he said, in radiant 
expectation. 

"Oh, indeed! and the money ?" 

A cloud came over his face.* "I borrowed it. To 
tell the truth, Gertrude, it is my first experience in 
that business, and I don't altogether like it." 

I grew more gracious then, aud went down to see 
the piano — an elegant Steiuway, in a plain rosewood 
case. When I sat down and played and sang, " When 
the swallows homeward fly,'*' Walter looked en- 
raptured. He is very much in love, and I think I can 
manage him perfectly. 

September 30th. — The first trost has touched the 
leaves with a breath of fire. The maples begin to 
burn with the fever of death. A winter in Sangamon, 
for that is the name of this delectable town — what 
does it offer to me ? I wore my camel's hair last 
Sunday, and Mrs. Jones, the shoemaker's wife, came 
up breathless. " Excuse me, Miss Bond, but you hev 
foi-got to rip out the store mark from your shawl. " 
Arcadian simplicity ! I have had some calls, but find 
I have no afiinity with these people. I am among 
them, but not of them — in a crowd of thoughts which 
are not their thoughts. Walter says a physician's 
wife must make hei'self popular. I must ask after 
little Johnny's measles, and boil herbs for old Auntie 
Simon's cough. Was I born for these things? Is this 
my life — nothing more— the dull, gray life and apa- 
thetic end of such people as these? Have I made a 
mistake? Walter is perfectly satisfied with his posi- 
tion. He takes the warmest interest in his patients 
and their ailments. He i-ides out cheerily in the 
morning, with the air of a man who is doing his life- 
work, and doing it well And what is left for me ? — 
to dust, to sweep, to darn, to thrum — to keep the cage 
in order where I sit — a captive bird pining for a larger 



78 MT SIDE OF THE STORY. 

liberty, and singing forever, " Can this be all — is there 
nothing more?" 

OcTOBFR 28th. — Oh, yss! something more! Quar- 
rels! We have had our first real quarrel, and Walter 
has gone without kissing me. I was not to blame. 
Still, it was a variety. It has quickened my pulses 
somewhat, and given me a color. And he can see 
that I do not give up a point easily, and that the hap- 
piest way for him is to yield. How dreary it looks 
from my window' the winter comes so early here! 
"The one red leaf, the last of its clan. 
That dances as often as dance it can," 
hangs alone on the topmost twig of the one maple 
tree in the garden. All the crimson and golden hon- 
ors have fallen and are trodden into the mire under 
foot. Poor tree! — poor life! — so our glowing hopes 
drop from us one by one, just as they seem to be kind- 
ling into something brighter and more glorious. Ah! 
I am moralizing instead of giving evidence. I am ar- 
raigned at the bar this morning, and allowed to state 
my case — not to criminate myself, though ; that is the 
delinquent's first right. 

Well, deponent testifies that she has for a week suf- 
fer-ed under an affection of the spirits, sometimes 
called "blues," or "low spirits," or depression, or 
melancholy; that, in casting about her for relief, it 
suddenly occurred to her that a party might be a 
diversion; only temporary, perhaps, but rousing, to 
some degree, for the time. Thereupon she decides to 
have a party. This morning the sun looked out pale 
and wan through watery veils of cloud, and I — thi.s 
third person is so troublesome — said to Walter; "My 
love, I am determined at last to make myself popular 
with the Saugamon people." 

A pleased smile lighted up his face. " I knew yon 
would come right at last, Gertrude." 

I made a peevish gesture. " Then you think I have 
been wrong?" 

"Not at heart, dear ; but then, it seemed as though 
you held yourself apart; you are so far above them, 
really, Gertrude, that I feared you would never come 
togethei*. 
" 'There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee, 

Thou standest alone as the nightingale sings,' " 
he hummed softly to himself. 

"So, I want to'give a party." 

You never saw the sun go into a cloud quicker than 
the smile went out of his face ; but I went on: "A 



MT SIDE OF THE STORY. U\) 

regular crush, I want to do the -whole towQ up at 
once, Walter, aad give me a new sensation, for you 
know I have never been hostess in such an affair." 

" 1 cannot afford to pay so high a price for your sen- 
sation," he answered, quietly. 

" Very well, then. I'll sell ray watch," I said, as 
quietly. 

The watch, a pretty little enamelled toy, was his 
bridal gift. He started as if he h«d received a blow. 
' Would yon — would you really do that?" he ex- 
claimed in a pathetic tone. 

'• Of course," I answered, with the greatest coolness. 
" We have a good clock here/ which will always 
tell me the time, and why should I not gratify myself 
with the 'money now lying idle in the water?' " 

" I believe you would sail the giver as well as the 
gift, to gratify a fancied wish," he exclaimed, in sud- 
den heat. 

" Perhaps the giver thinks he is sold ?" I answered, 
as warmly. But the flush passed away from Walter's 
face, and he grew cool and calm a:;aiu. " I know yoa 
are jesting, love. You would not part with my gift 
so lightly." 

" Now, do you know, Walter," I said, " associations 
are nothing to me I valae things for what they 
really are. I am singular, perhaps, but I say to my- 
self, what the watch will fetch, that is the value of tao 
watch. No jeweller will give me a cent more for it 
because of the associations with my wedding. JSo, 
intrinsically, you see " 

And there Walter cat the thread of my thought off 
suddenly, by going out and sliutting the door with 
what Hood calls " a wooden damn." 

But I shall win, I know, in the end. A woman who 
knows how to manage the cards always holds the 
winning ones, 

December 1.5th. — A drear, dull day, ending in 
snow. How the fluffy bits come sailing, sailing down, 
with a monotony enough to craze one. A cold, white 
shroud has wrapped the earth. Even the evergreens 
on the lawn do not look cheerful — such a mockery of 
summer with their dull, dead green. Walter is out 
riding through these blinding drifts. Oh, well! he 
likes it ; he goes into it with a keen pleasure ; the 
contest with the storm is exciting. Better, far better, 
than the drear, monotonous calm in which I am left. 
What have I to do through all this long, gray day, as 
it struggles on through its pale eclipse of snow? To 
feed my birds, to cut a few decayed leaves from mj 



80 MY SIDE OF THE STORY- 

plants. Bah! If one could only lop off the fair 
things that have died, and no loager have bloom or 
fragrance, out of our lives. So I complain to my 
journal. My life is full of blank leaves. I might be 
a Lady Bountiful of this town, make flannel " wes- 
kits" for the babies, make soup for the old women, 
or — but I am not cut out for this. It would be, I be- 
lieve, a worse purgatory than the present, when 
everything is a bore. All this day I shall look out 
languidly on the same dull blank of sky, shedding its 
frozen tears on the frozen earth, or I shall turn to the 
room so primly bright, and play drearily on the piano 
for none to hear, or I shall wander down, for relief, 
into the kitchen, and watch Rhoda awhile, as she 
drives her fists into the soft, puffy cushion of dough, 
to make the bread. She always sings as she works, 
and seems really happy ; but, who can tell? Perhaps 
I seem so too in the eyes of the boors around, or in 
her eyes, with my handsome dresses and this diamond 
on my finger, that burns with such a fierce spark of 
fire, Heigho! What will they have at the opera to- 
night, I wouder? I wish I had not wasted my money 
on that party now — on such dolts. I should have go't 
more enjoyment out of atrip to New York. But 
could I leave Walter so soon? Not six months mar- 
ried, and already the glory dies from off the landscape 
of my life! My husband is all kindness, but some- 
how I'm still longing and forever sighing for some- 
thing far off, unattained and dim — for my old life, 
perhaps, that will forever look in upon this dull new 
one, like a ghost that won't be laid. Good-by, old times, 
♦*I did so laugh and cry with you, 
I've half a mind to die with you, 
Old year, if you must die." 
It would take up too much space to give yon all my 
journal here, but I have given you enough to show 
the first cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, that 
grew and grew till it darkened my whole lite. You 
can see that I was not to blame for having aspirations 
which nature implanted in my bosom ; for not being 
enraptured with the dull, sordid life that filled my 
husband's cup of enjoyment to overflowing. It was 
the enamelled chalice and the earthen pitcher that 
went together to the way stream of life. I sighed for 
sparkling wine, "with purple bubbles beaded on the 
rim" — he grew ecstatic over his draught of spring 
water. I could not share his rapture — he could not 
share my longing ; so I might as well skip over the 
years, and hasten the end. 



MY SIDE OP THE STO^IT. 81 

AuarrsT. — To-day is my wedding day. Four years 
ago I stood up with Walter and vowed — vrliat was it 
I vowed? No matter now. I have been to Europe. 
Walter held out a while, as he always does. Why 
will he, I wonder, when he knows he must yield at 

.last? It is not philosophical. We should yield at 
once to the inevitable. He knows I have never yet set 
my heart on anything which I did not, sooner or 
la^er, attain. Somebody says, " Mau does not yield 
eveu to death, save through the impotence of his own 

. will." So Waiter sold the white cottage in Sangamon, 
and his practice there, with many a gloomy look and 
stormy word ; for, as I ha,ve said before, those cream- 
faced blondes, with their tender blue eyes and sunlit 
hair, can be volcanic now and then ; but if he is fire, 
then I am steel, and the fire only tempers me. There 
is actually a pun frtm a passenger by the Arago, who 
only arrived this morning. I have said nothing of 
my travels in my journal, because I have the intention 
of publishing them some day, and I could not lavish 
my beautiful descriptions in a journal that pays 
nothing. So here we are, free of Sangamon. The 
world is before us where to choose. 1 choose this city. 

September 8th. — I think I am cool enough now, to 
write what has pa:^sed this day. Emma Bond — she is 
married now, however — came in with her brother. 
The half twilight in the parlor prevented me seeing 
her face, or Walter's, quite well. But somehow I felt 
something solemn in her kiss. Tlien Walter went to 
the door, and locked it. It's a private parlor, and he 
could do it, of course ; but somehow the movement 
startled me. I turned to the window and caught back 
the curtain, till a long ray of light, like a golden 
finger, pointed in to the very spot where they stood — 
like the finger of justice, I think, pointing out two 
guilty culprits. Emma, fluttered a little, but with 
some inflexible meaning written in her face ; Walter 
seated, with his hands over his eyes — hands that 
trembled, I could see, with some terrible emotion. 

"What — what has happened?" I asked, as calmly 
as I could, 

Walter took down his hands. He was too much of 
a man to let his sister speak for him, as I saw she 
longed to do. His face was paler than I had ever seen 
it before ; taut he spoke in a voice that seemed frozen, 
as if all the warmth had been chilled out of it 
long ago. 

'' Nothing has happened, Gertrude, that has not been 
happening for four years." 



82 MT SIDE OF THE STORY. 

"Oh, if that's it," I said, relieved, "and we are to 
hear nothing new, perhaps Emma will lay aside that 
high tragedy es.pression, and join in with something 
sharp and appropriate to the occasion. Having 
reached our native land this moruing, my dear, we 
will resume our native manners, and commence quar- 
reling immediately, if you like." 

" But I have something new to say on an old subject, 
Gertrude,'" said my husband, "and I have brought 
Emma to hear me say it. We do not live happily to- 
gether. We had better part." 

A perfect volcano of emotions seemed to rend my 
heart. Surprise, anger, pride, and injured love. But 
pride reigned, and these words leaped to my lips: 

"Very well ; I could wish for nothing better." 

I was glad I had so spoken when I saw the look of 
pain grow deeper on Walter's face. He had not ex- 
pected quiet acqiiiesceuce then, but tears, perhaps — 
passionate proteitit, humble promises for the future. I 
was sorry when I saw Emma's quiet satisfaction as 
she murmured, " It's enough, Walter ; she consents." 
Had I sealed my own fate — and was this fair, impas- 
sive woman the witness? Walter walked toward the 
window and looked out, not for the view, I am sure. 
Then he began to talk again, hardly looking at me, 
but half as if couvincing himself. " I could not bear 
it much longer — I should grow mad — this slow torture, 
this eternal conflict. Gertrude, you kuow what I have 
done for you? I have sold everything but myself to 
gratify your whims. I have been weak, almost dis- 
honest, for the sake of peace ; but it is further off than 
ever — the cry is still ' give, give.' I stand here to-day 
ruined — beggared in heart and life. It cannot go on — 
it cannot go on." 

I changed my tactics then. 

"Really, Emma," I said, in a concerned way, "he 
must be ill ; his brain seems strangely excited. Who 
is your doctor hei-e ?" 

" He wants no doctor, but peace and rest," said his 
sister, going over to him fondly, and laying her hand 
on his forehead ; " of course he is excited; one does 
not break such ties as these in cold blood — unless," 
she added scornfully, "one is — is — a woman, and a 
heartless one." 

" Of course when I agreed with him about the sepa- 
ration, I thought I was humoring a sick whim. I 
have no idea of being pointed at as a divorced wife. 
Walter is mine, and no power on earth shall take him 
away." 

I expect I said this with no tenderness, but rather 



MT SIDE OF THE STORY. 83 

with the furious air of a woman guarding her prop- 
erty. Walter covered his face agaiuwith his hands. 
And Emma seemed stung into eloquence by my woi-ds. 
" No power on earth shall be left untried to give him 
freedom," she cried. What ! must a man be chained 
forever to a fair fiend, because, forsooth, for a few 
weeks he took her for an angel of light? He is young 
yet ; is he to drag forever a lengthened chain? is he 
to live forever on the edge of this volcano — worn out 
by fruitless strife ?" 

" Don't ask me," I answered, with the puzzled air 
of one who studies a riddle. " I never was good at 
guessing. I give it up." 

" But I do not," exclaimed Walter, starting up ; 
"I will solve this riddle, as you are pleased to con- 
sider it. Gertrude; and I say no — a thousand times 
no! Whether the law sanctions it or not, whether 
you consent or not, we part ihis hour. I have warned 
you that this hour must come, but you sneered. Take 
the fruit, now, of the seed you have planted — it is all 
I have to offer you." 

"Keally, good people," I said, playing carelessly 
with the" tassels of the ciirtaiu, "You seem to have 
arranged things vei-y much to your own satisfaction, 
but as I haven't been consulted, you musu't be sur- 
prised if I don't fall into your plans quite ■ apturousiy, 
or appreciate the melodramatic speeches you have 
made to me. If you had given me notice, I dare say 
I might have gotten up something tender and touch- 
ing ; but " 

Walter came toward me, not unkindly, " Let us at 
least part friends," he said, " and without any of this 
hollow mockery on your part. It is no farce, Ger- 
trude, at which you are a mere spectator, but a dead 
earnest thing, which separates us forever— in any case 
— forever. And I loved you once, Gertrude ; you have 
killed my love by slow degrees. It is gone, so it is 
better that I should go to. You have not been happy 
with me ; perhaps you will be happier without me, 
Good-by !" — and he actually held out his baud. 

Then I kindled like a live coal ; then I blazed up 
into such wrath that the two puny souls, with their 
fair faces, cowei-ed and wilted before me. 

" So it is really a plot," I cried, " and you two are 
the chief conspirators, to take away home and even a 
good name from a defenceless woman. What have I 
done? Let the sum of my crimes be blazoned abroad 
in any court in the land, and see the sneer of the 
lawyer against such paltry charges. I will not bear 
it ; I will not fall au easy victim into your snare. Is 



84 MY SIDE OF THE STOUT. 

a womaQ to be cast off, thpn, when her husband 
wearies of her, or a new face, perhaps, makes her Liok 
faded and plain? It shall not be. With eveiy power 
of my rnind, with every feeliux of my heart, with all 
the strength of my body, will I contest this thing an(J 
fight against this vile plot I warn you, Walter Bond, 
you shall make no easy case, gain no easy verdict." 

" It is all one," he said, wearily; "we part in any 
case." 

"Do not think that," I said; " I can follow you— f 
can thwai t you —I can destroy your popularity — I can 
crumble down any temple of happiness j'ou may seek 
to build. Think you any other woman would trust 
you if I go to her and say : Look at me ; he loved me 
once; he vowed to me as he now vows to you; he 
grew weary of me and cast me off; be warned in time. 
You know me, Walter. I have some fascinations. I 
shall use them against you. I shall win. A woman 
always appeals to the people successfully. Beware ! 

" INo matter, so we part now," exclaimed Walter, 
Bhrinking from me more and more, till he reached the 
door. He gave me one last look as I stood there 
angry and defiant, one look of almost loathing, and 
then went our. He must come back, I think; he has 
gone out angry so many times, I cannot believe this is 
the last. 

I sat down then, for I had stood from the first, and 
my strength seeme i s-1 pping away from me. Emma 
came near with a glass of water, and I drank. Then 
she began, in her old kind tone, till I thought of a 
green and gilded snake, as she sat there in her shining 
green silk and her waving yellow hair, so mild and 
sweet. 

"Gertrude," she said, " you may not believe me in 
this, but I am your friend. I pity you from my heart, 
more because I saw this end from the beginninsr. 
You have made Walter miserable — perhaps you could 
not unmake yourself and do otherwise. It is your 
nature to be selfish, exacting and tyrannical, and — 
and perhaps you have not striven agamst that nature 
as you should. Well, you are unhappy, and I pity 
yon. I wish to do something to show my sympathy. 
Come and stay with me till this thing is settled. My 
husband joins me in the invitation. We will do 
what we can to make life pleasant to you still, and 
you will have the gayeties of New York this winter 
to take your mind from your troubles. Will you 
come?" 

How I hated her as she sat there. How I despised 
her offer. But I was prudent. I considered what I 



MT SIDE OF THE STORY. 85 

was to do. I had no home. Walter had little to give 
me, for the winter in Paris had drained him. I had 
better think before I spoke, so I answered as calmly 
as possible: "I will think of it, Emma, aud tell you 
to-morrow; but I should like to be alone now, if you 
please." She went out, and I have been sitting here 
thinking— thiaking, till my brain seems on fire. 
What shall I do ? Shall I sell my diamonds and fol- 
low Walter, as I said, or shall I stay here and see 
what pleasure I can get out of a New York winter? 
Revenge is sweet — but had I better exhaust my re- 
sources ? I think I had better exhaust Emma's. 

December 9th. — I have been here now three months 
with my saintly sister-in-law. It was a masterly 
move to invite me. How well it will look to the 
world in any event! What self-denying love — what 
Christian grace! And then, I am here, to be stroked 
down aud persecuted — to becalmed aud coaxed. Oh ! 
I see through it all, though I seem blind. Sometimes 
I explode with sudden wrath, and startle them all. I 
did so this morning, and now Emma's husband, Mr. 
Sinclair, has just left me. He has been kind in his 
manner, but he said some hard things — " It must not 
happen again, or — " I finished the sentence for him — 
"Or you will turn me in the street, gracious sir. 
Very well, I do not wait for that — I ttirn myself in 
the street — I will leave to-morrow." So I have 
packed my trunk and written these lines before I go. 
How gay the streets are — and the merry sleigh-bells 
ring out joyously, as the happy people curl up under 
soft furs, and the horses toss their heads with a real 
enjoyment of the affair, as they dash past. I have 
missed my destiny somehow — 1 ought to be one of 
those rich and pampered ones who are flying by, 
flushed with the pleasures of the hour. In the sun- 
shine of prosperity I would be sweet and good. It is 
only the storm that sours me, as it does milk. Now I 
must be a drudge, and teach — music. 

April. — It is spi-ing in the country. Even, here the 
little girls are selling violets. But I did not sit down 
to write that. It is all over — Walter has got the di- 
vorce He has written to me to-day to tell me so — a 
cool business letter, with some money arrangement 
at the end — generous, perhaps I de.-pi.se it aud him ; 
but I shall not refuse it — oh uo ! I would like to take 
more from him. I have none of the false pride of 
novel heroines. The more I hate him, the better I en- 
joy taking his money. Why should we only accept 



bb MY SIDE or THE STORY. 

assistance from those we love ? And he gives me 
some advice besides. That 1 will not take. 

June. — It's aa odd little hotel this, and I have to 
wait till morning before going home, so I may as well 
write what I have to say here. I've liad a long 
journey and a fruitless one, I tear; but I've kept my 
word. It seems like the other day since Walter shrank 
from me wlien I threatened ; but it is four years — four 
years of desolate, stormy winters to me — four springs 
without promise — four summers without fragrance — 
four autumns without harvest ; and I am here to keep 
my word. I have seen her to-day, the girl that Walter 
loves. I have travelled day and night for this, and it 
is over. This morning I made myself as handsome 
as possible. I dressed myself in a shining violet silk ; 
1 wore a black lace hat with velvet heart's-ease star- 
ring it with parple and gold ; I wrapped a black lace 
shawl about me, and thea I looked in the glass. Some 
lines were in my face, of care or pride — a weary, hag- 
gard look in the eyes, perhaps. But so much the 
better ; she would see that I had suffered — that he had 
made me suffer. Rosa May! — a so:t, sweet name — a 
meek-eyed, dimpled little thing she is! But I must 
go to her by degrees. What a bowery bloom ther-; was 
in all the little gardens, as I weat down the village 
street; and the houses were all alike, you know— all 
done up in roses and honeysuckle, every one like his 
neighbor. But I was well-directed, and could make 
no mistake. I saw some one kneeling over a little 
garden-bed, transplanting some primroses, and I was 
impressed that this was Rosa. My convictions are 
seldom wrong. I went in confidently. 

"Is this Miss May?" 

The young girl looked up with a pair of clear brown 
eyes — startled like a frightened fawn. "Yes," she 
answered, in a hesitating way, evidently waiting for 
for the rest. 

" I have something to say to you that must be said 
in some less public place," I said. She led me with- 
out a word, into a little summer house, hidden behind 
a great willow. 

"Sit down, if you please," she said, timidly. She 
was a pretty little thing, with a meaningless face, and 
I saw that Walter had not chosen a gifted woman this 
time. I thought my triumph was secure with such a 
weak little thing, and I grew almost aflfectionate. 
"My dear," I said, "I have travelled a great many 
miles to save you, and I hope you will hear me out 
patiently. I do not want another fond heart to make 



THE LUMLEI TRAGEDY. 87 

shipwreck on the same rocl, on which. I split. Walter 
Bond " 

The brown eyes dilated then, and I saw she had 
some sort of hidden strength, for she seemed no more 
timid. 

"I think I know you now, madame," she said, 
quietly. 

" Then you know I am his wife?" I said, quickly. 

"That you were his wife, I know! she said. "He 
has no secrets from me." 

"Do you think human laws— poor weak toys of 
man's invention — can put apart those whom God joined 
together?" I cried — for I thought religion was the 
weapon to use with her. "Dt) you not fear to trust 
yourself to a man who holds God's laws so lightly? 
Do you not fear that the day may come when you will 
stand, as I do now, amid the wreck of your life's 
hopes, alone — stranded upon a barren shore, while the 
gay bark that bore you on awhile, goes rejoicing on 
its way to fairer climes for another passenger? You 
look too good — too innocent for such a fate. Be warned 
in time!" 

" He has told me all you can say — and I love him," 
said the girl simply. "I do not fear." 

I was foiled. "Then you deserve your fate," I said, 
bitterly. " I can do no more." 

" I accept it," she answered, and rose to go. 

I was forced to rise also. I saw her cleai- trusting 
look — I knew how such a being would twine round 
his heart, and the very bitt-rness of death swept 
through my soul. Ah, if I could only have snatched 
this cup of pleasure from his lips. But in vain — they 
will be happy, and I sit here alone, a'ld to-morrow I 
go back to my lonely room, and to my daily tasks. 



THE LUMLEY TRAGEDY; AND WHAT 
BECAME OF THE PRINCIPAL ACTOR. 

In the old morbid German student d.iys I had been 
mad and impious enough to wonder how a man felt 
who had committed murder, to wish that I might ex- 
perience his sensations— realize by actual experience 
what they were. 

I had my wish now. 

The woman I loved lay dead at my feet, her white 
bosom gashed with the death-wound I had given her. 
I had murdered her ! How did I feel ? I did not feel 



88 THE LUMLBT TRAGEDY. 

at all. The blow I had dealt her had stunned me. I 
felt nothing then. 

My love for Lucille Balfour had been the passion of 
my life. I madly worshipped this woman, who was as 
desperate a coquette as ever lived. 

Three years 1 danced atteudanceon her steps, so mad 
with my passion for her that I could not quit her in 
the face of her preference for others. Though deceived 
and put off, and cheated into new tru't only to be de- 
ceived again, constantly deluded and maddened in a 
breath, I loved on, until one day it was my lot to 
rescue her from the consequences of a wild escapade 
in which she had engaged. I saved her life, and slie 
gave it to me in reward — that is she pretended to do 
so. 

She promised to marry me, and I was as happy as 
a man ought to be who had loved a woman three 
years, and won her at last. 

Well, all went like paradise for awhile. Lucille 
smiled only on me. She seemed only to live for me, 
as I for her. 

But a woman who has once been a coqtiette does not 
find it easy to abstain from trifling, to be satisfied with 
the devotion of one. Lucille could not. 

She had presently as many admirers as ever, in 
spite of my remonstrances. Theuxwe quarrelled, and 
I went away. 

I could not stay, however. I came back to find 
Lucille about to be married to another. 

I went to see her with my heart full of love and for- 
giveness, and she told me she was going to marry 
another. 

We were all alone. It chanced that the very ser- 
vants were out for a holiday. There was no one to 
help her or hear her. I was mad, I suppose. I believe 
all wickedness is a kind of insanity 

I told Lucille I was going to kill her, and she 
laughed at me. 

There were a great many costly trifles scattered 
about her room, curiosities from near and far. On the 
table nearest us was a long, gold-hilted stiletto. 

I took it up, and drew it from its velvt sheath. 

She laughed at me yet. She did not believe me, and 
as I caught her on my left arm, slie cried out angrily 
my rival's name. 

I struck her then— once, and laid her off my arm 
upon the carpet. 

She never moved or made a sound. 

I might have stood there staring at her for hour«. 
I have no idea how long it was; I don'i know that I 



THE LUMLEY TRAGEDY. 89 

should ever have moved but for the sound in my ear 
of the voice of the man whose name she had on her 
lips last. 

"My God! who did it?" he was saying-, and then 
he tried to drag me away." You look as though you 
were going mad with horror, Burt, and no wonder," 
he said, "To have loved such a wman and come 
home to find her so! Come away, old fellow. This"li 
be too much for you. Come, I'll send for a doctor. 
Maybe she isn't dead after all." 

It went through me with an odd thrill in the midst. 
Lucille bad told me she lo^ed this man to vex me. It 
must be. He neither spoke nor looked like the lover. 

He evidently entertained no suspicion that I had 
killed her, though he found me standing over her 
murdered body. 

He thought I was her lover — that we were to be 
married! 

No one had known, now I came to think of it, of the 
dissolution of our engagement but ourselves. Lucille 
had been displeased with my jealousy, and had pur- 
posely fomented it to punish me ; but ac the bottom 
she had been true o me all the time. 

These convictions flashed through me as I stood 
there. Then I let Phil .inderson draw me away. Not 
far, however. I sat down in the outer hall, and 
covering my face, waited for the hand of doom to be 
laid on my shoulders. 

"I hope they may catch the wretch who did it," I 
heard one of tlie women say who had flocked in. 

Strangely enough, no one seemed to suspect me, and 
no one had extracted a word from me yet, either in 
crimination of myself or others. I was beginning to 
shudder every time any one questioned me, but I 
answered nothing. 

"Never miod. He's daft with grief," said they. 
"Poor fellow! he's loved her these years. They were 
to have been married this fall coming." 

" I hope they'll hang him without judge or jui-y," 
said another voice. " I'd like to be in at the hanging, 
too." 

The speaker meant the murderer. Could she mean 
me.? I stole a furtive look at the beldame. She was 
staring straiijht at me with small, fierce eyes tlidt 
pierced me like fiery darts. 

I felt then what the murderer feels — not before — the 
unutterable sting of terror. Fear, the must cowardly 
and unmeaning, clutched me like a dem.>n. 1 sho<Jk 
like a lea . My heart was like lead in my bosom, ifty 
knees sj ute together, and I thought they were all 



90 THE LUMLEY TRAGEDY. 

staring at me, and reading the guilt I in vain tried to 
cover with my quivering hands. 

If the earth could have opened and swallowed me — 
if the wall behind me could have gaped, and hid me 
from their scorching eyes! I thought no longer of 
Lucille— beautiful, beloved, adored, lost! 

It was not remorse that tore me ; it was fear. I 
could not think connectedly. I was bewildered, 
ma/ed in a sort of frenzy that yet instinct forced me 
to control from outbursting. 

Phil Andei-son came and laid a hand on my 
shoulder. I lookod up with a start, but his face was 
only pitiful. 

" Take ma somewhere away from these eyes, Phil," 
I pleaded. 

"Poor old fellow, yes!" and he showed me into aa 
inner room. 

There was a lounge. A glance assured me that 
there was a window. I threw myself upon the lounge 
and waited. It was almost dark. I should not have 
to wait long ; but every second seemed an age. I 
could not have fled before the eyes of all these, but I 
was resolved to flee. 

The commone.st reason told me that flight would be 
construed at once as a sign of guilt; would in all 
probability raise upon me chat hue and cry for justice 
which my remaining might hinder. But I was fren- 
zied to go. Stay I could nut and would not. The very 
air about me breathed horroi^ and death. 

Presently I went to the window and looked out. 
Darkness was gathering slowly. There were scatter- 
ing trees at a little distance I might hide in their 
shadows and so get away without being seen. 

Slipping the sash, I got quickly out ; and after as- 
certaining by an upward glance that tlie curtains on. 
most of the windows on this side of the huuse were 
drawn, I stole away. 

I was hatless. It was the craziest thing I could 
have done — this flight ; but I could not help it. I had 
not self-control enough to stay. I had sense enough 
to realize that any secui-ity in flight was impossible 
without money. 

I believed, too, that as soon as my absence was dis- 
covered, I should be sought at my own rooms. I 
hastened thither, therefore, at once, and secured what 
ready money I had there. Entering unseen by a back 
way, I left in the same manner. 

I had a large amount of funds in a bank in a 
neighboring city. But the chaoces were, that, if I 
went after it, by the time the bank was open news 



THE LUMLEY TRAGEDY. 91 

would have come of my flight, and I should be arrested 
there. I therefore set my face in an opposite direction. 

I did not dare take the cars at the nearest depot ; be- 
sides, they were not due for an hour yet, and I dared 
not risk waiting, so I walked on to the next stopping- 
place. It was three miles, and I was barely in time. 

The exercise had been good for me, however. It 
had in some measure worked off my nervous excite- 
ment. As I stepped into the car I was nearer self- 
possession than I had been since the commission of the 
fatal deed. 

Before entering I gave a hasty but thorough glance 
over the inmates of the car. They were all strangers 
whose faces were toward me, but to make sure I 
passed round to the other door, and made the same 
investigation. 

There was no bne I knew. Indeed, both this station 
and the one preceding furnished few passengers at 
any time. 

I sat down wit^h something like a sensation of relief, 
as the engine, with a screaming whistle of defiance, 
tore away on its route. I was safe till we stopped 
again— tolerably safe till morning, when the telegraph 
might have floated my guilt world-wide, and set my 
path with spies. 

I was safe for the present, but I did not feel so. The 
terror might not have been quite so great, but the 
misery was horrible. 

Was there another wretch on the face of the earth 
so unutterably wretched as I was? Was there another 
whose existence was such a horrible burden, and yet 
who clung to it so — was so terror-smitten at the 
thought of losing it ? 

What was it I feared? The hereafter? Scarcely. 
The present agony was too imminent to make the 
future very real. It did not seem to me that I feared 
death. I thought what an end of pain and care it 
would be if thel;rain that bore me would plunge down 
some dark abyss and crush us all to atoms! 

I wished, oh, so wildly, that to-day was yesterday 
— that I might be dreaming — that I had stayed away 
from Lucille when I went away — that I had trusted 
her more — that I had never, never, nevee struck her 
that fatal blow. 

Was this the way murderers felt? Oh, my darling, 
and I had slain you! 

"You live hei-eabouts?" questioned my nearest, 
neighbor, leaning over to address me. 

I could not help half a start. I hoped he did not 
notice it. 



93 THE LUMLET TRAGEDY. 

"No sir," I said, shortly. 

" Ah, really, I beg pardon; I noticed you got in at 
the last sta,tioa." 

"You are mistaken, sir. I am all the way from the 
city. I rode on the forward car first, but did not like 
my seat, aid iSO came in here." 

"Ah!" ot-id my companion, relapsing into his seat, 
and seeming s,tiisfied with my lie. 

I was not"bo sure, however. What did he mean by 
asking me if J lived hereabouts? 

I chaugcd n., f position presently, so that I could see 
my neighbor's face. He was looking at ra^^. 

"What's doiagin the city?" he asked, as he caught 
my eye. 

"Not mucL," I answered, looking out of the 
window. 

" Queer thiug that bank robbery on -on Seventh 
street." 

" I believe so," said I. 

"There are no banks on Seventh street," said 
another gentlaman near me. 

"Noue?" my talkative neighbor questioned. 

He was souadinir me, I thought, with a shudder, 
and presently, making an excuse ou account of the 
nearness of the stove, I changed my seat to another 
part of the car. 

Most of the people in the car dozeil off to sleep as the 
night advanced, but the Seventh street bank gentleman 
did not close his eyes till near morning. 

It seemed to me that he could not sleep for watching 
me, and the faucy made me sick with fear. 

It was in vain that I reasoned witli myself upon the 
unlikelihood of his knowing anything of what had 
occurred at Lumley. 

I was sure he regarded me suspiciously ; and, 
though I had certainly never seea him before in my 
life, I imagined a sort of familiarity in his aspect, till 
I could, ia the bewilderment of my terror, have sworn 
that he was an old resident of Lumley, where I had 
lived so loQg. 

I slept none, though, in my anxiety lest my wake- 
fulness should be noticed, I pretended to sleep. I felt 
as though I should never be able to lose myself again. 

I dreaded the approach of morning, yet longed for 
the terrible night to pass. 

When moruiug did come, and the people around 
me began to arouse themselves from their uncomfort- 
able,- naps, 1 shrank almost visibly every time I 
encountered the eyes of any of tl em. 



THE LUMLEY TRAGEDY. 93 

It seemei to me people had never looked at me 
befn-e. 

What did they see in my face to make them stare so 
at me? How I wished I was a woman, and might 
wear a veil, to hide me from so many eyes ! 

At the depot I looked for trouble. 

So a little before we stopped, I got up and made my 
WHY throu'^'h the cars to the last one, down whose 
steps I leaped the instant it slackened motion. 

I stood a moment to recover my equilibrium, then 
walked away with as deliberate a step as I could force 
myself to assume. 

I went straight to the wharf without stopping. I 
meant to take the first outward-bound vessel, no mat- 
ter whither she was going. 

I found one just sailing for Liverpool, and went on 
board at once. 

Till we were far out at sea I expected a boat to be 
sent after us — after me; but none came. Till we 
touched land, then I was safe. 

Safe? What a mockery safety is to the criminal ! 
He knows not the meaning of the word. His reason 
may tell him no danger is near, but his fears, his re- 
morse, his conscience, are like unquiet hounds, howl- 
ing the death-warning forever in his ears. 

One torture I was spared. The ghost of my poor 
victim did not haunt me. 

To my thought she was often present, as she lay on 
thfi carpet in the little sitting-room where we had sat 
often. 

I went over the terrible scene many times. I felt 
her grow heavy on my arm as that cruel blow smote 
her. 

I saw the beautiful face ghastly with dpatb, the 
white bosom dabbled with blood ; but these scenes 
came rather at my bidding than unwelcomely. 

I grew very soon to be an object of curiosity to the 
other passengers. 

I was so taciturn, so gloomy of aspect, so nervous 
and excitaide. Some ventured much to satisfy their 
curiosity, and tortured me beyond imagining, watch- 
ing for my secret. 

I dared not slee^/, for fear of babbling it aloud. 
Walking, I caught constantly some conversational 
allusion that made me shudder and thrill at the 
associations it suggested. 

It was a miserable voyage. Another week of such 
surroundings, such inactivity, would have crazed me. 
Arrived at Liverpool, I found myself so nearly des- 
titute of means, that it was necessary to seek some 
employment at once. 



94 THE LUMLET TRAGEDY. 

la a strange city, wild and foreign of aspect as I 
■was, totally unfamiliar, too, with the ways, I stood a 
poor chance of obtaining any sort of situation. 

My last penny was spent, and I had gone hungry 
many a day before relief came. 

I answered aa advertisement for an American clerk, 
and in my extremity obtained the situation, with the 
merest piitaace for a salary. 

I think the operations of the mind are very depeu- 
dent upon the state of the physical powers. Hunted 
down as I was by poverty, hunsrer, and scantily 
clothed, my broken energies refused to rally. 

I grew more morbid and desponding every day. I 
became more nervous and fearful at every sound and 
look. 

I was not a good clerk. My nervousness and pre- 
occupation unfitted me for performing my duties 
satisfactorily. 

At home I should have been dismissed at short 
wai-ning. 

My slower English employer would have suffered 
me to jog along unceitainly much longer than I did, 
but for an accident which caused me to leave him of 
my own accord. 

This was no less than the chance use by a customer 
of tiie word " Lumley.'' Lumley is an English, 
rather than an American name. But I could not help 
feeling that the man, as he utte'ed the word, fixed his 
eyes on me curiously, and I could not for my life keep 
my cbeek from blanching. 

I made some excuse to leave the store within the 
hour, and I never went b:ick. Iu^<ie-id of doing so, I 
took tlie express train for London that night. I 
thought in the great smoky old city I could lose my- 
self completely. 

I went into a coffee-house and called for a Times 
newspaper. I meant to look over the advertisements 
for some employment. I could not afford to be idle. 

My eye first fell upon an adverti>eraent for a gar- 
dener. Sir Robert Woodley, at Woodley Court, Not- 
tinghamshire, wanted a g<irdener. 

My eye travelled on. Three paragraphs below it 
was something which thrilled through mo like cold 
steel. 

My own name, Burt Calthorpe, in capitals. Any 
person who could give information which should lead 
to the discovery or whereabouts of the same should 
be amply rewarded by lodging it at No. 10 Marlborough 
place. 

It never struck me that this was a singular wording 



THE LUMLEY TRAGEDY. 95 

of an advertissment for the apprehension of a crimi- 
nal. 

I only felt that I must get out of London. Nobody 
would think of looking for Burt Calthorpe, quasi 
gentleman, in Sir Robert Woodley's nurseries, I 
would go to Nottinghamshire. 

Fortune was on my side this time. .Sir Eobert had 
not yet hired a gardener, and was badly in need of 
one, or he would never have taken so unpromising a 
looking one as myself. 

He was likely at last to have thrown up the 
arrangement, because I had not a character ; but his 
wife, a handsome, kindly-faced woman, who stood 
leaning upon his shoulder while he talked with me, 
whispered something in his ear, and at once he said 
lie would try me. 

LadyWoodley proved my friend. With a woman's 
tender intuition she read me to a greater extent than 
any one had done since I left Lumley. 

Without torturing me with questions, without in- 
stituting any system of drawing out, she comprehended 
that I was very wretched. It mattered not to this 
lovely woman why. 

I was wretched. Whether I deserved my misery, 
was guilty or unfortunate, I was wretched ; and such 
balm as she might she poured into my wounds. 

The good a tender, conscientious Christian woman 
can do cau scarcely be over-estimnted. 
• Under the influence of Lady Woodley I became, if 
not a happier man, a wiser one. My eyes opened to 
more rational views of life, and my own relations to it. 

I saw myself a pitiful coward in hiding, punishing 
myself hourly more horribly than if I had staid and 
faced justice at Lumley. 

What were a hundred halters by the side of the 
sullen terror that dogged my steps now wherever I 
went? 

Lady Woodley, discovering that I was not the un- 
educated boor I assumed, persuaded me to become 
librarian to her husband. 

I consented the more readily, because I had now re- 
solved to return to America as soon as I could obtain 
means to do so, and the advance in position would 
include an advance in salary. 

Having once resolved to turn back and face the fate 
I had been fleeing in such agony, I found myself 
calmer, and more nearly happy than I had dreamed I 
ever would be again. 

1 had said that I was spared the torture of being 
haunted by the ghost of my poor dead love. 



96 TUB LUMLEY TRAGEDY. 

I was. 

Wuat did come to haunt me, though, in these hours 
wheu I had devoted myself to just expiation, was not 
a spirit, but a likeness — a likeness the most singula! 
ami unaccountable. 

Lady Woodley had a sister come down from London 
to spend a few months with her. 

The first time I i<aw this lady I was so astonished 
With the re-emblance .she bore to poor Lucille that 1 
could not speak for some moments. 

Both she and Lady Woodley restrained their sur- 
prise, and were very patieut with my agitation. I 
could not explain — I did not try. 

Miss Leverett probably concluded that I discovered 
in ber a r-semblance to some lost loved one, foi she 
was always patieut and kind with me, and ne^er re- 
sented as an iini^ertiueuce the intensity of gaz*; with 
which I constantly caught myself regarding her wheu 
in her presence. 

Miss Leverett had evidently seen sorrowful days 
too. 

fehe wore always the deepest mourning, whether 
for parent, brother, or sister, I knew not. 

The expression of her lovely face, her rare smile, 
her tender eyes, were sad as sweet. 

Her face, while it was strongly like Lucille's-in 
contour and feature, had nothing of my lost lover's 
witching vivacity of color and gayety. 

yhe was always pale, slender, and slight, too, 
where Lucille had rounded into fullest outlines of 
health and beauty. 

I found a fascination in watching her that I knew 
not how to name— so haunted was it with meujories 
of pleasure and happiness the most transcendent- -so 
keenly was I reminded that my own hand had lest me 
all. 

Miss Leverett conversed with me sometimes In a 
low, gentle voice. 

By degrees she seemed almost to seek the library, 
where, of course, I was most frequently, and on such 
occasions we lingered talking over a favorite >ook, 
dweliiug on themes of mutual interest, I so nearly for- 
getting ail that lay between me and peace as to now 
and then drop a word about myself, and some personal 
allusion to that past which lay so far back of this 
present time. 

It was not long before I discovered that Miss 
Leverett, with this word now and that word then, 
was souudiug my past. 
So softly she spoke, so sweetly she looked, so in- 



THE LUMLEY TRAGEDY. 97 

geniously site questioned me, that I did ii(t feel the 
probe till it touched the sore itself. 

For the space of a day all the old torture of fear be- 
set me. This woman was a spy set upon me to bring 
me to justice. 

There was a difference between surrendering myself 
to the demands of vengeance, aud being dragged to 
retribatioa by foreign hands. 

A calm frame of mind succeeded to this, however. 
Having kept my chamber through the day on a plea 
of illness, I went down to the library in the evening, 
resolved, if by chance I met Miss Leverett, I would 
evade nothing she had to say to me. 
Miss Leverett sat there reading. 

She looked up as I entered, with a grave gesture of 
welcome, and resumed her book. 

Something in her expression at that moment was so 
like Lucille, that I thrilled through every nerve. I 
remembered, suddenly, hearing that Lucille had 
English relations. 

She herself had been very uncommunicative on the 
subject, even with me. 

"Miss Leverett," said I suddenly, "pardon me, but 
will you tell me were you ever in America?" 

She looked up startled ; her book fell to the floor, 
and I did not pick it up. 

I should have told you before that Miss Leverett 
was near-sighted and usually wore glasses. This 
evening she was without them. 

That was what increased the likeness of which I 
have spoken. 

Her hair, too, always hitherto worn in plain bands 
off her face, this evening drooped in just such curls as 
Lucille wore. 

Some strange agitation was on her too, as she half 
rose, clasping her hands upon her bosom. 
I "It is too like!" I gasped, shuddering with anguish. 
" Tell me who you are ? Had Lucille a sister ? " 
She smiled, took a step toward me, and paused. 
"Do you not know me even yet?" she whispered. 
I could only sink upon my knees. 
She smiled again, a heavenly radiance on the lovely 
face. 

With swift but trembling hands she removed the 
sable kerchief that covered her ivory shoulders, and 
showed me upon the snowy surface a deep, red, cruel 
scar. 
"Youlive! Your are Lucille ! Oh, my God!" 
" I live, and I forgive you, because I love you, and 
because you have sutfered so frightfully. Do you for- 

7 



98 THE drawing-master's story. 

give me for the same reasons, because I too have 
suffered?" 

"I? Lucille, it is too much!" and I, a strong, 
healthy man, fainted away. 

Well, it was not for long, you may imagine. Joy 
does not often kill. 

Lucille had tracked me in my flight like a detective. 
Recovering against all hopes aud prophecy from her 
■wound, she had set out at once upon niy steps. 

Lady Woodley was a relative, not a sister. 

Providence had shaped all, and contrary to, at least, 
my own desei-ts, I was happy. 



THE DRAWING-MASTER'S STORY. 

Christmas comes but once a year, according to the 
old sayiug ; and I for one, at least, ought to be glad 
of the fact, considering some of my experience, the 
worst of which, however, fell out after the following 
fashion. 

I am a water-color painter; and, moreover, do not 
deem it derogatory to give some lessons in the fasci- 
nating art. My enemies and certain gentlemen of the 
ffi~thetical and liistorical s^choulfi of painting would 
call me a drawing-master, aud I suppose they would 
not be far wrong ; at any rate, I am prepared to be so 
dubbed, nor do I feel myself in any degree humiliated 
by the designation. 

In the course of a long experience I have had to do 
with many odd and eccentric people, chief among 
whom was a certain Mr. Cauham. (For obvious 
reasons 1 disguise the names of persons and localities ) 

Some years ago he called upon me with a view to 
my giving his daughter instruction in sketching. He 
was a man of about fifty or sixty, tall, wiry, sandy- 
complexioned, perfectly well-bred, and of courteous 
mannei's, but generally and emphatically unprepos- 
sessing, lie informed me that he had studied the 
theory of painting more or less all liis lile ; also that 
he wished his daughter to become a great artist. He 
knew that she had talent, and he would leave her en- 
tirely in my hands. 

"At present," said he, "we are staying in town; 
but in the autumn 1 hope you may possibly be able to 
come down to my place and work out of doors; 
meanwhile, do the best you can to prepare her for this, 
iu the drawing-room in Curzon street." 

He mentioned from whom he had heard of me ; did 



THE drawing-master's STORY. 99 

not for a moment question my ability to instruct ; 
arraaged most liberal terms; and, after rapidly pro- 
pounding some rather unintelligible theories about 
art, he took his leave. 

For three months, in the London season, I had paid 
periodical visits to his mansion in Mayfair. During 
this time I became acquainted somewhat intimately 
with the young lady and her governess. I found she 
was an only daughter; that her mother had died 
while she was but a child ; and that ever since she 
had lived under the sole care of Miss Greene, a lady 
verging upon fifty, remarkably agreeable, and in no 
way answering to the generally-received notions of do- 
mestic she-dragons I further found that Mr. Can- 
ham's peculiar ideas were not confined to art, they were 
the same upon all questions of tuition; and Miss Greene 
soon told me thai his bad and pt culiar temper made 
all argument with him fatal ; that he must be allowed 
to dicta. e and appear to have his own way. 

I followed this advice; and when the family left 
town 1 received a polite note from the father enclosing 
a check for my services, and thanking me for the im- 
provemeuc I had effected in Miss Caiiham's handling 
of the bi-ush. A time, he said, would be settled wheu 
I should pay them a visit in the country, to carry on. 
the le.'isons out of doors, as proposed. 

I, however, heard nothing ot them for three years, 
though 1 had often pondered over the curious antago- 
nism existing between father and daughter. His in- 
fluence was in all ways prejudicial to her. Her whole 
vitality seemed depressed by his presence. He was 
in the habit at least ouce during every lesson, of 
making his appearance in the drawing-room, and 
laying down the law and expounding his opinions. 
There was a pomposity in his manner and an ex 
cathedra tone in all he said that were irritating be- 
yond measure. He was quite incapable of entering 
into the feelings or ideas of anybody else. His con- 
ceit and selfishness had dried up every sympathy, and 
it was problematical as to whether he had any heart 
at all. 

On the other hand, his daughter, although high- 
spirited, was a girl of the keenest sensibility — what 
the doctors would call "a bundle of nerves," from 
head to foot — and it was perfectly unintelligible to me 
how there could be any relatiouship between them, 
especially the close one which existed. 

His very voice affected her ; it made her shrink 
visibly into a smaller compass ; h- r eyes would 
assume a hopelessly blank look; nor was it until she 



100 THE drawing-master's STORY. 

was once more left alone with Miss Greene and myself 
that her light-hearted ness and natural buoyancy 
returned, or that she would again expand, either 
morally or physically — as certain flowers shut and 
open their petals under the influence of cloud or sun- 
shine. 

A.t last, early in December, 18 — , I received the 
following letter from Mr. Canham. It bore no address 
or date, but had a London post-mark: 

" Dear Sib — Various circumstances prevented my 
arranging for the continuance of your lessons to my 
daughter, as I hoped. Now, however, I should be 
glad of your further assistance. I think that no bet- 
ter method of studying landscape out of doors can be 
found than begin with what one may call ' Nature's 
skeleton,' when her frame-work is completely visible. 
I should u ish Miss Canham, therefore, to commence 
sketching at this season of the year; and, if your 
arrangements will permit, it will give me great 
pleasure if you can spend the next month, including 
yoar Christmas, wit i us, at a little place I have taken 
near Pellerton, Northerlandshire, where Miss Greene 
and my daughter are at present staying alone. Go 
down as soon as you can and set to work. You are 
expected. 

"I fear, however, I may not be able to join you 
until Christmas Eve. I keep a very small escablish- 
ment at Drearholt Lodge, so you will excuse my nv t 
sending a carriage to meet you at Pellerton station ; 
but you will obtain a fly there to convey you to the 
house. 

" One thing only I have to request— you must on no 
account let any one know where you are. During 
the time you are with us manage to have as little 
correspondence as p issible ; date your letters as from 
London, enclose them to Mr. Truston, (a factotum of 
mine,) Aston place, Hornsey, and they will be safely 
posted ; also authorize your servant to give him all 
your letters when he calls, and I will answer for their 
reaching you safely. I will make ample compensa- 
tion for any inconvenience this arrangement may pat 
you to, but absolute secrecy 1 must insist upon. 
"Faithfully yours, 

"W. Canham." 

Strange conditions these, I thought, but quite like 
him; only I fancy the young lady will find it cool 
work painting out of doors this weather. My curi- 
osity was excited. I had no important correspondence 



THE PRAWING-MASTEk'S STORY. 101 

or business at this time. I knew tliis would be a re- 
munerative expedition ; and as Christmas had long 
ceased to be a very marked season with me, and as it 
mattered little how where I spent it, I determined to ^o. 

In a few days, therefore, I found myself travblling 
on the Great N jrthern Eailway into Northerlaudshire. 
The rather singular conditions of silence imposed on 
me impressed me with an idea that my visit might 
not be wholly without romance or adventure. I felt 
fully convinced that I should find a marked change 
in my pupil. 

The peculiar want of sympathy and the misunder- 
standing which I had discovered as existing between 
her and her father, combined now with this seclusion 
in a retired and wild part of the country, at what is 
generally the season for sociability and enjoyment, 
pointed to a state of things so thoroughly unusual, 
that my presentiments seemed at least well founded. 

After a jouraeyof nearly ten hours I reached the 
lonely little station at Pellerton, just as it was getting 
dark, and secured the solitary fly; but, to my surprise, 
I found that I had a twelve miles' drive before me, 
over a very hilly country. I soon lost all idea of the 
directioa we were taking, and it was late ere Drear- 
holt was reached. It was a mere box, indeed ; but 
fires blazed cheerily and Miss Greene received me 
cordially. On asking lor my pupil, she told me 
gravely' that Miss Canham had not been well of late, 
and had gone to bed. My presentiments were not 
liushed by her peculiar manner, and by degrees, over 
the supper-table, I elicited the fact that Miss Canham 
had been kept in this seclusion for the last month, in 
consequence of a love affair of which her father did 
not approve. 

" He just takes," said Miss Greene, "the same per- 
verse view of this as of all otier matters concerning 
the child. There is not the slightest reason for his 
objections; the gentleman is of large fortune, good 
birth, irreproachable character, and his offer might 
altogetlier be looked upon as one of the most eligible 
description, Mr Canham, however, will not hear of 
it, and persists in maintaining that no woman ought 
to marry until she is thirty, whilst, as you may re- 
member. Miss Canham is but just twenty She has 
taken it sadly to heart, and the unfortunate adverse 
influence which her father's presence always had 
upon her does not in this instance disappear as it 
used to do in his absence. I am very glad you are 
come, Mr. Manser," she continued, " a.s I hope the 
interest Mabel takes in your lessons may benefit her 
health, which has suffered somewhat severely." 



103 THE DBAWING'MASTEK'S stort. 

"Probably," I replied, "this was Mr. Cauham's 
idea, for it is a somewhat unu.sual season for ladies 
to think of sketching from nature." 

"Oh, dear, no! he never thought of that. Her 
health or her happiness never enters into his arrange- 
ments. He thinks of nothing but her putting into 
practice the theory, which has just sprang up in his 
mind, about beginning to draw from the skeleton of 
nature. If he had wanted her to learn algebra or 
Dutch, or some pet plan of his own, he would have 
had a master down to carry out his views immediately. 
No," she continued with a sigh, " he thinks of nothing 
but himself; it is very cruel, and now that Mabel's 
future is at stake, I feel my responsibility becoming 
more than I can bear. In trivial things it does not 
matter, but his absolute refusal to look at the question 
of Mabel's engagement rationally is serious. It sig- 
nifies very little whether he has hei^ taught this or 
ihat accomplishmr-nt after his own systems, as he is 
pleased to call his fancies; but it does signily very 
much his insisting on his theory of women not 
marrying until they are thirty being carried out when 
his daughter's happiness is imperiled. He has no 
objection to a ten years' engagement, although, as I 
have said, there is nothing to prevent the marriage- 
taking place at once. Oi course, Mr. Hurfurd objects 
to waiting so long ; and we have been sent here to 
prevent the possibility of an elopement, which at one 
time appear, d so iinm nent." 

"But surely," I remarked, "Mr. Hurfurd knows 
where you are?" 

" JN^o ; I am positive he does not." 

" Oh ! then," said I, "this accounts for the silence 
imposed upon me. But, pray tell me, is it not very 
absurd to suppose that your whereabouts can be long 
kept secret?" 

'■ No, indeed, not so absurd as you may think ; it 
was very cunningly managed by Mr. Canham 
Listen: 

"There had been many painful scenes between 
father and daughter. We were in town, ostensibly 
on our way to the Continent, where we were to 
winter, and this intention was made as public as 
possible in the household. It was uncertain how long 
we should be away, and all letters for the present 
were to be directed Post Restante, Genoa. One eve- 
ning we three left Curzon street in a cab, unaccom- 
panied by any servants, the butler telling the driver, 
as he shut the door, to go to Charing Cross terminus. 
We had scarcely turned into Piccadilly when Mr. 



THE drawing-master's STORY. 103 

Canham put his head out of the window aud ordered 
the maa to drive to the Great Northeru Station. I 
was somewhat surprised, but poor Mabel was iu far 
too distressed and absent a state of mind to take any 
heed of the clian^'e, aud uotliiug more was said ti,l 
we readied Kiug's Cross. There would be an hour 
to wait, the porter told us, before the limited mail 
started; but we could get into the carriage, which 
had been secured, if we pleased at once. 

"When Mabel had eutei'ed, Mr. Canham held me 
back, and, telling the guard to lock the door, took me 
aside, and theu informed me of his scheme. He de- 
clared his intention of breaking off all possibility of 
cjmmuuication with Mr. Hurlurd, aud leave him 
without any clue to our destination, except the false 
one thrown out by the address given to the servants 
in Curzon street. He entreated, and, in a way, com- 
manded me, to aid and assist him in furthering his 
plans, aud insisted on my promising to do so. The 
unexpected proceeding, as well as the s addeuuess and 
energy with which he urged my compliance, gave me 
no time to reflect ; indeed, much as I might have ob- 
jected, and still do object to the plan he is adopting, 
of course, I could but acquiesce. Nay, so urgent was 
he, that he made me faithfully promise, and I believe 
he was going to ask me to swear, to keep his counsel. 

"We then returned to the carriage, aud, having 
taken our seats, he told Mabel that he had no intention 
of going abroad, that slie was to consider herself 
bound in honor to hold no communication with Mr. 
Hurfurd. But," he continued, ''Mss Greene will 
see that my wishes are carried out, and that you are 
kept isolated from all society, until you are prepared 
to forego your wish to marry for the next ten years. 

" Her face gave no sign of his words being under- 
stood, but her old habit of shrinking from him was 
more apparent than ever. It was a most trying time, 
aud I felt most culpable as 1 thus found myself a 
partner in his cruel and absurd behavior — turned, as 
it were, iuvoluntarily into a jailer over the girl whom 
I had loved as if she had been my own, and for whose 
sake alone I had put up with Mr. Canham's perversi- 
ties and oddities for so many years. 

" We arriv. d at this wild and out-of-the-way place 
iu due time, aud afterward learned that Mr. Canham 
had hired this cottage, which was but a keeper's 
lodge in the days when the large but now ruinous 
house of the estate was inhabited. You will see it to- 
morrow standing on the hill to the right. We have: 
been here a month : we have no attendants but an 



104 THE DRA-WING-MASTEli'S STORY. 

iafirm couple, Gibson and his wife, left in charge of 
the lodge, and the little country girl who waits upon 
us. We are twelve miles from Pellerton, the nearest 
post town, whence all our provisions are sent twice a 
week. Mr. Canham left us a few days after wo had 
been here, but returns on Christmas Eve." 

"Good gracious!" I interposed; "why, it is like 
being buried alive! — the man must be mad!" — for by 
this time I was fully impressed with the singularity 
of the situation. " How do you mean to act ? Do you 
contemplate letting things remain thus?" 

" I don't know what to do. I am quite bewildered, 
for Mabel has become so fit.'ul and wayward that I 
have fears for her reason. She has ceased bemoaning 
her fate, and, naturally conceiving that I am siding 
with her father, withdraws all confidence in me. I 
strive in vain to cheer her up ; she only repels me. I 
was thinking of writing to Mr. Canham's brother, 
when, nearing that you were coming, I thought I 
would wait and consult with you as to what could be 
done. You understand the extreme difficulty of my 
position; my word has been passed, and if I refuse 
any longer to consider myself bound, I am not sure that 
Mr. Canham would not give me my conge, and possibly 
place Mabel under the care of an utter stranger. This 
I could not bear, loving her as I do," and here the 
poor lady's heart failed her, and she burst into tears. 

I was fairly nonplussed, and we did not pursue the 
discussion mach further. I slept little that night, 
thinking over all I had heard and the strangeness of 
my position. Y^t, what business of mine were Mr. 
Canham's domestic affairs ? I had no plea for interfer- 
ing. No; I could only do what I had undertaken, 
and possibly this might, in some degree, shorten the 
days for the poor girl, in whom my interest was now 
increased. 

I dressed as soon as it was daylight, and went out 
into the gray and chill December morning. It was, 
indeed, a solitary spot ; utterly secluded and shut in 
by hills, which here and there almost reached the 
dignity of mountains. The whole aspect of the place 
was uncanny to a degree, rendered more so by the 
time of the year and tlie wild drifting clouds, which 
hung about and swirled round the crests of the bare 
and rugged promontories. There was but one road 
apparently to the house, and this was soon lost to 
view by reason of the undulating character of the 
country. A gloomy, ruinous, deserted, mansion-like 
building stood, as Miss Greene had described, and one 
could imagine that the whole property and district 



THE DKAWING-MASTEK'S STORY. 105 

were under some sort of ban ; for, although the cot- 
tage was snug eat ugh inside, externally it wore a 
very woebegone and dilapidated appearance. 

VVhen. at brealifas^t, i met Miss Cauliam, I was 
really startled at her appearance. Miss Greene's, story 
had prepared me in some measure, but not fully for 
what I saw. Her figure had rounded but little sincj 
we met, though her face had grown older. A ghost 
ouly of a smile spniug up as we shook hands, and it 
was with great difficulty that I could in any way in- 
terest liei- in the work before us. Later in the day, 
whea we strolled out with a view to settling on some 
picturesque subject, a slight spark of her former en- 
thusiasm (for she had always been fond of art, and 
possessed uo meau capacity for drawing) revived. 

The weather brightened somewhat, i felt less de- 
pressed as the sun shuue out, and it was now, although 
within a fortnight of Christmas Day, by no means 
cold. Sketching out of doors, well wrapped up, would 
be agreeable eaough, and, after some consultation, we 
fixed upon a point in the peculiar but not unpictur- 
esque neighborhood suitable for our purpose. Four 
or live days passed more pleasantly than might have 
been expected ; we progressed with our study satis- 
factorily ; the spirits of both of my companions rese- 
ttle younger even at times evincing delight over her 
sketch. I frequently renewed my conversation with 
Miss Greene, and heard many little family details 
that showed and explained several points that were 
at first rather obscure, but which are not essential to 
my narrative. 

One afternoon, when we had finished drawing, at 
a considerable distance from the cottage, the ladies 
went toward home, whilst I lingered — as we painters 
are apt to, when we see fresh capabilities in sceuery — 
for I thought from a certain point a good composition 
might be had of a new subject. 1 got over a low wall 
by the side of the footpath we had been sitting in, and 
went toward a ruinous looking barn at the end of an 
adjoining field. As I approached it I found that it 
was part of some old monastic building which had 
been converted to farm i>urposes. It was so high that 
it must, in its former state, have consisted of more than 
one story. The ordinary barnlike gates were on the 
side by which I reached it, and were the on y visible 
meaus of ingress. 

It occurred to me that one could sit inside, and by 
looking back get a capital view of the subject I was 
contemplating. This would be particularly desirable, 
for theie was a threatening of colder weather, and I ' 



106 THE drawing-master's story. 

did not want to let Miss Canham's interest slacken 
in liei- outdoor painting. Bat wlien I tried to open 
tlie doors I discovered they were fastened from within; 
so I made my way, with ditficulty, through a hedge, 
round to the otlier side, whicli abutted ou a by-laue, 
and whicli I had not observed until I thus came 
suddenly upon it. 

High above, on this side, there were three old arched 
windows, two of which had been bricked up, the 
third had a wooden door, standing partly opeu, which 
could be reached by a tall ladder or movable flight 
of old wooden steals, resting against the, wall. Up 
these I went, and discovered that this end of the 
upper part of the building was a loft, another door of 
which led to a seeoad flight of steps, dowu on to the 
thrashing-floor of the barn itself. 1 descended ; and 
then, as i expected, from the inside I easily i^ushed 
opeu one of th^ old gates. Thus I found that this 
empty and deserted buildingwould make a large and 
commodious painting hut, with a perfect view of the 
scene I had fixed upun. 

There was not asouL about ; and the unusual solitude 
of the wii'jle uoigliborliood was even more remarkable 
here, from the desohite aspect of the building and the 
adjacent cart-sheds and out-houses. I have been thus 
minute in my description of this place for reasons 
which will soon appear. 

Eeturuing to the by-lane, I took my bearings, con- 
cluding that there would be no difficulty in reaching 
Drearholt that way; foi-, although closely shut in by 
the leafless trees, 1 could still see that it went parallel 
with the line of hills, with which I was familiar. A 
sharp turn in the road brought it to the margin of a • 
brawling trout stream whicli ran through the valley. 
Some way down I could see a man, who, but for the 
time of the year, might have been fishing ; but he was 
too far off for me lo distinguish very clearly either 
what he was like or what he was doing; and I 
should not have noticed him at all but for the rarity 
of the human species in these parts, for days would 
pass without our seeing any one iu this district, the 
most thinly-populated I ever was iu. The lane 
eventually fell into the main road, leading from 
■ Drearholt to Pellerton station, but at a greater dis- 
tance from the former than I expected. 

On reaching home I propounded my scheme of 
sitting iu the barn, which was ha. led with acclama- 
tion. Now, although, as 1 have hintel. Miss Gau- 
hara had revived considerably since my arrival, she 
had not displayed anything like the marked improve- 



THE drawing-master's STORY. 107 

metit of spirits noticeable on this particular eveniug; 
aud but for a certain excitement and anxiety in her 
manuer, one would have said she was nearly her old 
self again, aud during dinner Mi.^s Greene and I 
exchanged glances of satisfaction. Later, when she 
had retired for the night, this couditiou was naturally 
the chief topic of my usual tece-d-tete with the kind- 
hearted duenna. 

" It is too sudden," I said, " to be quite satisfactory. 
When you left me iu the valley there was no evidence 
of these high spirits ; when did they come on?" 

"Well, jast before dinner. We had been to our 
room, aud Mabel was a longer time than usual 
dressing. I came down alone. When she followed, 
I saw she was rather excited, and was surprised at 
her extreme excess of gayety. I cau't quite account 
for it, because she has hardly been oat oi my sight. 
You know we occupy the same room, as Mr. Cauham 
requested ; and, indeed, I promised him never to 
leave her alone more than I could help. If such a 
thing were possible, I .-should think she had received 
some news. Y. t this cannot be, for she has no letters ; 
aud even the few I have are forwarded from Genoa, 
this being part of the plan so carefully laid for our 
isolation. Moreover, what correspondence there is 
passes through my bauds, as I keep the key of the 
letter-bag, which is brought and carried away by a 
walking postman." A little more to the same effect 
brought us to bed time, and we bade each other good- 
night. 

Wex day, and the two following, we made consec- 
utive pilgrimages to the barn, which, by-the way, 
was further otf than we had at first supposed ; but we 
took our luncheon with us, aud usually spent many 
hours there, seldom returning till it began to grow 
dusk. The sketch was highly satisfactory, but it 
still wanted two good days' work. 

Meanwhile Miss Canham's enthusiasm and im- 
proved spirits continued unabated ; but Miss Greene 
complained bitterly of the cold, and tried to persuade 
her to finish her drawing at home. But the young 
lady was very self-willed, and I was loth to check 
the intei-ftst she took in her pursuit; so she carried 
her point, although, but for the friendly sheKer of 
the barn, the coldness of the weather, albeit bright 
aud fine, would have prevented her doing so. 

We had now reached the 23rd December; and going 
home by the footpath that afternoon, as I frequently 
did, alone, I again remarked a man, walking along 
the lane on which the barn abutted, whom I somehow 



108 THE drawing-master's story. 

faucied was the persou I had seen on the banks of the 
stream ; but I was this time also too far off to be sure, 
and only noticed the fact, from the same reason as on 
the former occasion. 

Thac night a change crept over us. The weather 
became intensely cold ; a sharp frost powdered the 
country with a liim of white, and on the morning of 
the 24lh, as we walked off for the last time to our 
little encampment, there was a slight fall of snow. 
It became a qaescion of turning back, but Miss Can- 
ham positively refused ; she said she had taken so 
much pains with her sketch that she was determined 
to finish it from nature, and that it would not be at 
all unpleasant in the barn ; moreover, insisting that 
it would be great fun having a picnic in the snow. 

Bat about an hour after we had settled ourselves, 
things began to look rather serious. The cold was 
frightful, the wind blew straight in at the open door, 
and the snow fell at intervals in enormous flakes. 
Nevertheless, our enthusiast took no heed of it, but 
diligently worked away, though, as I cold her, the 
effect was so changed that all she was doing could be 
better done at home. 

No ; she would stay, she was determined ; she liked 
the novelty of the situation — this pursuit of art uuder 
difliculties. 

By degrees the weather got much worse. We could 
not see our subject for the now coatinaous vail of 
snow, falling in front of us. It drifted into the barn, 
and gathered rapidly and thickly at the foot of the 
one door that was not open At last, between two 
and three o'clock, it became quite hopeless, and I 
was obliged to close the other side of the two doors. 
We mast prepare to trudge back again, and I began 
to pack up our materials. The wind howled and 
rattled through the loit, banging the wooden win- 
dow, and giving unmistakable evidence of a furious 
storm. Still, we could not stay there, and the sooner 
we got home the better; yet it seemed ridiculous to 
attempt to face such weather— it could not last all the 
afternoon thus. What should we do? 

There was a great deal of vacillation; we would 
wait awhile, at least, and, while waiting we could 
not employ our time better, Miss Canham thought, 
than by having our lunch. So nothing would serve- 
the wayward girl, who seemed bent on doing any- 
thing for the sake of delay, but spreading out the 
whole array of provisions. Her spirits seemed to rise 
in proportion as ours fell, and she laughed and joked 
incessantly about ( ur "elderly" misgivings. Misera- 



THE drawing-mister' S STORY. 109 

bly cold aud wretched, with what little light that 
was left gradually decfeasing, it was uot the gayest 
senile for a picnic that could be imagined. However, 
much time was speut over it, in spite of Miss Greene's 
nervousness and anxiety to get away. At last she 
cried, impetuously, "Do see how the weather looks, 
Mr. Manser; I am determined to start at once. It is 
the sheerest folly losing time in this manner; we 
shall barely gee home, as it is, before dusk." 

Quickly obeying her, I ran up the steps to the loft 
aud looked out upon the road whence I had fii'st 
entered the place, and was not at all reassured by 
what I saw. The road itself, owing to the protection 
of the thick holly hedge, brushwood, and trees, which 
skii'ted it on this, the weather-side, was tolerably free 
from snow, but heavy drifts of it were banking up in 
every exposed place ; it still fell more thickly than 
ever, aud the dark leaden sky hung close upon the 
earth. Keally this was no joke; we must get away 
at once, or there would be positively a chance of being 
" snowed up." 

I knew enough of wind and weather to be aware 
that no time should be lost. Returning to my com- 
panions, I stated my opinjon which was received by 
the younger one with laughter and expressions of 
delight at the novelty and romance of such a situa- 
tion. The poor duenna was in despair. 

"Oh! never mind the things," she said, wrapping 
her cloak round her; "they will be quite safe. 
Come, come, Mabel, immediately!" and she made 
toward the door. Having at last groped her way to 
it, she exclaimed, 

" Good gracious, I can't open it!" 

I directly went to her assistance, and found what 
she said was true. I put out all my strength to push 
it open, but it gave way scarcely an inch only at the 
upper part. The wind and snow whirled through 
the aperture in a second, and nearly blinded me, but 
I could see a pile of snow reaching three feet up the 
door. 

My fears were realized much more rapidly than I 
expected. I renewed my effn-ts again and again to 
get it open, but with no effect. Little pats of the 
drift kept falling in through the crack ; but as to 
moving the door materially, that was out of the 
question. We were "snowed up." 

I need not dwell on the effect this discovery pro- 
duced on the elder of my companions. I calmed her 
anxiety somewhat by explaining that our retreat was, 
a: all events, open by way of the loft and ladder lead- 



110 THE drawing-master's STORY. 

ing into the lane, and that it would not be very diffi- 
cult for her to get down, and doubtless, Gibson would 
find some means of looking after us. 

"I feel sure the roads will be quite passable," I 
said; "it is only here and there that there is any- 
thing like drift at present. These doors stand ex- 
posed to the full fary of the wind, at the eud of a 
hollow ; and, if I had given it a moment's thought, I 
should have guessed what might happen." 

At the same time, 1 had no idea so much snow had 
fallen. As to Miss Canham, she made me rather 
angry by the selfishness with which she disregarded 
her poor friend's feelings. She coutiuued to laugh, 
saying that she had not been so amused for years — 
we should certainly have to sppud the night there; 
but it did not matter, it would be vey jolly, we had 
got plenty of rugs and shawis, and peuty to eat and 
drink — and, even at that moment, she was regaling 
herself with a large sandwich and a glass of sherry. 
Nevertheless, there was an assumed indifference about 
her, not quite natural. 

I im.igiue it was about four o'clock, just as I was 
going to assist Bliss Greene up the ladder into the loft, 
when JMiss Canham darted forward, laid her hand on 
my arm, and said: "Hush! what is that run.bling 
noise? Surely there is something coming along the 
road!" and, pushing me aside from the steps, she ran 
up to the top, tht^i'e exclaiming in a sort of mock- 
heroic tone, "Oh, yesl We are saved! we are 
saved!" 

I followed her immediately, and, to rny relief, saw 
a fly in the act of palling up just undt^r the window. 

"All right," 1 cried to the driver; ";, ou havte 
come for us, I snppose ; we shall be down in a min- 
ute." 

" Yes," growled the man, " I be come for the lady " 

I was about to turn away, when Miss Canham 
sprang past me, as if determined to de-cead at once. 

" Wait a moment ! wait a moment!" 1 cr.ed. " For 
Heaven's sake, don't be in such a hurry' You had 
better let Miss Greene go first. " 

"No, no!" she replied, with her foot on the top 
step. " I'll help her lown. Go and fetch lier." 

1 lingered for a moment in real anxiety, ;is 1 saw 
this now wildly-excited young lady p rsist in scnmib- 
ling down the wooden flight of steps, always a danger- 
ous and ticklish operation, especially for a woman, 
but rendered doubly so now by their slippery condi- 
tion, to say nothing of their not being fastened, but 
merely resting against the wall. She got half-way 



THE DKAWING-MASTER'S STORY. Ill 

dotvn, when, stopping and looking up at me, she 
said: "Don't be afraid. Go and fetch Miss Greene. 
I'll wait and lielp her." 

"Very well," I replied; "be careful; stand 
steady." And away I went, calling to Miss Greene: 
" jS'ow, pray come ; it is all right. Here is a fly, and 
your young friend is half-way down the steps." 
And as I was helping the trembling lady into the loft, 
I heard the coach-door slam, and a man's voice (not 
the driver's) say: 

" Now, then, as fast as you can!" 

These words were immediately followed by the 
muffled sound of the carriage driving away. 

A sudden idea that we had both been fairly dup<=d 
rushed into my mind. I hurried up to the wmdow, 
and, to my amazement and consternation, there were 
no steps! They were thrown down, and lay half 
sunk in the snow, just under the window. There 
was no young lady, and all I could see was the car- 
riage driving off rapidly along the road, a sharp tarn 
in which the next moment hid it from my sight. 

No words can describe my comiiai;iou's agonized 
state of miud. I, too, felt anyiliing but comfurtable. 
It was quite clear that this was some preconcerted 
plan of elopeme:it, to which our sketching arrange- 
ments, combined with the weather, had leant consid- 
erable assistance. The recent high spirits, the anxiety 
to come to the barn, the persistency with which she 
insisted on remaining, her assumed determination to 
finish her sketch, and the various little inexplicable 
proceedings to whicli Miss Cauhani had resorted for 
the sake of delay, were now all fully accounted for. 
D mbtless, some means of communication had been 
opened by Mr Hurfurd, and, as 1 thought of it, it oc- 
c .rred to me as not improbable that he was the 
stranger who had twice come under my notice within 
the last few days. 

Of course, if this was so, he could easily have found 
means to give iniimation of his plans ; mid the immi- 
nent arrival of Mr. Canham, who, it wUl be remem- 
bered, was expected this very evening, had, doubtless, 
precipitated his proceedings; though whether Mr. 
Hurfurd was actually in ihe fly as it drove away, we 
could not be sure; yet the strange voice that l.had 
heard, and the removal of the ladder, were items of 
additional presumptive evidence that he was. 

For some minutes we thought of nothing but these 
things, but very soon our forlorn position forced itself 
upon us. Here were we, nearly two miles from home, 
shut up complete prisoners in a dreary, out-of-the-way 



113 THE dkatmng-master's story. 

biiildinff, wth we krew cot what prospect of release. 
Night was comiug ou, the fury of the storm by no 
means abating. Every moment increased our difli- 
culty, and, as by degrees we weighed every detail, 
our condition looked more and more hopeless. Gibson 
and his wife had been, of course, expecting us every 
hour; they could not know exactly where we were, 
and even if they did, the increasing depth of snow 
over the roads, the scanty population, and absolute 
dearth of vehicles, would all combine to prevent any- 
thing like speedy aid reaching us. 

I foresaw clearly that, unless I could manage to get 
out, we should have to pass the night there. 

The idea of jumping from the window, which at first 
occurred tome, upon consideration was impossible; 
the thickness of the snow which, on the other side of 
the barn, blocked us in, would have been invaluable 
beneath the window, as a break to my fall ; but, as I 
have daid, the road, from being protected, was but 
scantily covered, and a leap from such a height would, 
in all probability, have been attended with broken 
bones. 

Thus the elements not only combined against us, but 
aided and abetted the escape of our young ti'aitoress. 
The next thought I had was of a rope by which to 
lower myself; but, besides the da kness in which we 
were enveloped, and consequent impossibility of 
searching, I felt pretty sure, from previous observa- 
tion, that there was no such thing tu be found, as the 
barn was all but denuded of the usual odds and ends 
stowed away in such places. 

I set to work and hallooed with all my might, but 
my voice could not travel a dozen yards for the roar- 
ing and moaning of the wind through the neighboring 
trees. Then again, despairingly, I made impotent 
efforts to force the barn door, but, of coui-se, in vain. 
No, beyond a doubt, our Christmas Eve (for suddenly 
we recollected the date) would be passed in this deso- 
late and miserable place, and our sumptuous fare for 
Christmas Day would probably consist of the scanty 
remnants of our lunch. 

Although I do smoke, I am not a slave to the habit, 
and, therefore, have no difficulty in relinquishing it 
occasionally. I had not smoked since I had been at 
Drearholt. So I had no pipe or tobaoco with me — not 
even my match-box. A thousand petty difficulties 
after this fashion crowded through my mind, and ev»n 
occupied me, for a time, more than the serious pros- 
pects of being frozen, or even starved to death. By 
degrees, Miss Greene began to shuw a little fortitude ; 



THE drawing-master's STORY. 113 

we were obliged to look our position straight in the 
face, and regai'd it as philosophically as we coul A. We 
consulted, and settled that nothing could be done — at 
any rate, till dav light. 

Cautiously I groped about, and got hold of our rugs 
and raps, of which there was fortunately an abund- 
ance, and made up, in the snuggest corners I could 
find, two apologes for resting-places. And here, liter- 
ally, on this bitter eve of Christmas, in this dilapi- 
dated shelter, with tlie winds whistling through our 
roof, snowed up, helpless, with no prospect of relief, 
very little to eat and drink, and in total darkness, did 
we two pass the night! 

I will not dwell upon the bodily discomfort and 
mental anxiety of that long, long, dreary time ; it can 
scarcely be imagined, certainly not described. Once 
or twice 1 did fall asleep, but only to wake so be- 
numbed that I at last dreaded giving way to drowsi- 
ness. Peeling the necessity, too, of keeping my poor 
companion awake, I continually endeavored to chnt 
with her, as cheerfully as I could. However, "time 
and the hour run through the longest day" — and 
night! With the dawn the wind dropped. An hour 
afterward a cloudless sky, and a still, steady, hard, 
cold, and thoroughly seasonable Christmas morning-, 
was the report of the weather 1 made from my lookout. 

Again and again I hallooed till 1 was hoarse; the 
clear air seemed to mock my impotent efforts to make 
myself heard! Again and again I hui-led myself 
despairingly against the doors ; they yielded less than 
ever! Again and again 1 sought to loosen their plank- 
ing; they defied me I Again and again I tried to pick 
a way through the wall ; it was far too substantial ! 
Still, I could not zuake up my mind to jump ; for if I 
disalaled myself, then both our fates were inevitably 
sealed, and a drop of twenty feet or more on to hard- 
frozen ground would possibly result in such a catas- 
trophe. 

For six mortal hours after this, in perfect solitude, 
and with the most extraordinary silence reigniiig 
around, did we two forlorn, half-starved wretches wait 
and wait, in helpless inaction 

Were we to spend yet another night like the last? 
The possibility was too horrible to think of. My com- 
panion was half stupefied, and the remains of our pro- 
visions, although 1 had husbanded them as well as I 
could, were fast running short. Evening was gradu- 
ally creeping ou, and, I confess, bringing utter despair 
now to me. We were like rats in a pit, and there 
seemed no hope. 



114 THE drawing-master's STORY. 

Would no effort be made from the house to seek us. 

Yes; what is that? The same muffled ratable ou 
the road that we had heard about i'our-aud-tweuty 
hours ago. 

I looked out, and once again, sure enough, thei'e 
■was the fly ! — the same identical pair-horsed iiy, driver 
and all, just in the act of stopping, as I had seen hira 
the day before. 

"For God's sake, put up the ladder," I half shi-ieked 
to the man, who irritated me beyond measure hj not 
instantly springing from his box. 

"Noa, noa! not yet awhile," said the rascal, slowly, 
smiling benignly up at me, but never moving' an inch. 

"What do you mean?" I again shrieked. "Why 
we are nearly starved to death. Get down immedi- 
ately, and put up the ladder." 

"Noa, noa," he repeated, "not so fast, not so fast; 
not till ye ha' promised to keep quiet, and to say 
naught about it for the next two days! Jf you won't 
promise this, I'll just drive away again, and e'en 
leave somebody else to dig ye out !" 

I saw what he meant in a moment, and saw he was 
in earnest, for he added, moving his horses on a yard 
or two : 

"Now, then, will ye make up your mind? for I 
canna wait." 

I need hardly say that we did make up our minds, 
and in a quurter of an hour afterward were being 
slowly driven along the narrow lane, which, though 
thickly covered with snow, was still quite passable. 
Two hundred yards short of the spot wnere it fell into 
the main road, we stopped. 

"Ye'll please to get out here; ye'U be able to find 
your way now before it is quiie dark," was our 
driver's remark as he opened the door. "I canna 
trust to take ye further. I ha' got my orders, and ha' 
been well paid for the whole job ; but you may give 
me a Christmas box, if you like, for all that." 

And this I actually did; for, ouce released, I was 
only sensible of the ludicrous and comical side of this 
well-managed plot. 

Little more need be told. This is the way I passed 
my Christmas in IS—. The difficulties that followed, 
and poor Miss Greene's sufferings both mental and 
bodily, which were really very serious, may be easily 
imagined. Her occupation iu the Canham family was 
gone — gone and got married. But she still flourishes, 
and I have had the pleasure of giving many lessons to 
her present pupils. 

Privately, I may state that, in my opinion, the stern 



ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 115 

parent was rightly served, although it was rather 
hard that we should have been so painfully made the 
instruments of his punishment. 

He did not reach Drearholt for thi-ee days after his 
daughter's elopement, having been also "snowed up" 
at the further end of the county, where the railway 
line had been completely blocked. 

1 broke the news to him. It was an unpleasant but 
curious scene. I wish I had time to describe it. At 
present he has forgiven none of us. I have heard 
once from Mrs. Hurfurd, who is still abroad. She gave 
me a full account of how everything was managed ; 
but told me very little that I or anybody could not 
have guessed from the way things fell out 



THE ETIQUETTE OF COURTSHIP AND 
MARRlAGc. 

No subject in this work is more important, and 
certainly none will be studied with as much attention, 
as that of the present section. Love is the universal 
passion, courtship is the most interesting avocation 
of human life, and marriage one of the great ends of 
existence. As our wives are not purchased, as in 
China, nor stolen, as in some parts of Africa, nor, in 
general, negotiated for by parents, as in some countries 
in Europe, but wooed and won hj polite attentions, 
the manner in which a gentleman should behave to- 
ward ladies is a matter of the greatest importance. 
Charms, filters, and talismans are used no longer — 
the only proper talismans are worth and accomplish- 
ments. 

HOW TO WIN THE FAVOR OP LADIES. 

To win the favor of the ladies, dress and manner 
must never be neglected. Women look more to sense 
than to beauty ; and a man shows his sense, or his 
want of it, in every action of his life. When a young 
man first finds himself in the company of the other 
sex, he is seldom free from a degree of bashfuluess, 
which makes him more awkward than he would ucher- 
wise appear, and be very often errs from real ignor- 
ance of what he should say or do ; though a proper 
feeling of respect and kindness, and a desire to be 
obliging and agi-eeable, will always be recognized 
and appreciated, though there are certain forms very 
convenient to be understood. 



11(5 ON COURTSHIP AND MAUKIAGE. 

HOW TO ADDRESS A I.ADT. 

We address a married lady, or widow, as Madam ; or 
by name, as Mi-sis or Mistress Joues. In answerin;^ 
q'uestioas we contract the Madam lo ma'am — as " Yes, 
ma'am ; no, ma'am ; ve y fine day, ma'am." 

A single lady, of a certain age, may also be ad- 
dressed as Madam. 

A young lady, if the eldest of the family, nnmarried, 
is entitled to the surname— as Miss Smith — while her 
younger sisters are called M ss Mary, iMiss Julia, etc. 
The term "Miss," used by itself is very inelegant. 

It is expected that geatlemen will, upon every 
proper occasion, offer civilities to ladies of their ac- 
quaintance, especially to those for whom they have 
a particular attachment. 

A gentleman meeting a lady at an evening party, is 
struck with her ajipearance. Ascertaining that slie 
is not engaged, which he may do from some acquaint- 
ance, he takes some opportunity ot saying: 

"Miss Ellen, will you honor me by accepting my 
escort home, to-night?" Or, 

" Miss Ellen, shall 1 have the pleasui-e of seeing you 
home?" Or, 

"Miss Ellen, make me happy by selecting me for 
your cavalier." Or, 

"Miss Ellen, shall I have the pleasure of protecting 
you." 

The last, of course, as the others, may be half in 
fun, for these little matters do not require much 
seriousness. The lady replies, if engaged, 

"Excuse me, Sir, I am already provided for." Or, 
pleasantly, 

" How unfortunate! If you had been a few minutes 
earlier, I might liave availed myself of your services." 
Or, if disengaged, 

"Thank you, Sir, I shall be obliged by your at- 
tentions." Or, 

"With pleasure. Sir, if my company will pay you 
for your trouble ;" or any other pleasant way of say- 
ing that she accepts, and is grateful for the attention 
proffered to her. 

The preliminaries settled, which should be as early 
as possible, his attention should be public. He should 
assist her in putting on her cluak and shawl, and 
offer his arm before leaving the room. 

PRELIMINARIES OF COURTSHIP. 

There is no reason why the passion of love should 
be wrapped up in mystery. Ic would prevent much 



ON COURTSHIP AND MARKIAGE. 117 

complicated misery in the world, if all young persons 
understood it truly. 

According to the usages of society, it is the custom 
fur the man to propose marriage, and for the female 
to refuse or accept the offer, as she may think tit. 
There ought to be a perfect freedom of the will ia 
both parties. 

When a young man admires a lady, and thinks her 
society necessary to his happiness, it is proper, before 
committing himself or inducing the object of his admi- 
ration to do so, to Hiii)iy to her parents or guardians for 
permission to address her; this is a becoming mark 
of respect, and the circumstances must be verj 
peculiar which would justify a deviation from this 
course. 

Everything secret and unacknowledged is to be 
avoided, as the reputation of a clandestine intercourse 
is always more or less injurious through life. The 
romance evaporates, but the memory of indiscretion 
survives. 

Young men frequently amuse themselves by playing 
with the feelings of young women. They visit them 
often, they walk with thein, they pay them divers 
attentions, and after giving them an idea that they 
are attached to them, they either leave them, or, what 
is worse, never come to an explanation of their senti- 
ments. This is to act the character of a " dangler," 
a character truly dastardly and infamous. 

HOW TO BEGIN A COURTSHIP. 

A gentleman having met a lady at social parties, 
danced with her at balls, accompanied her to and from 
church, may desire to become more intimately ac- 
quainted. In short, j'ou wish to commence a formal 
courtship. This is a case for palpitations : but forget 
not that "faint heart never won fair lady." What 
will you do ? Why, taking some good opportunity, 
you will say, 

" Miss Wilson, since I became acquainted with you, 
I have been every day more pleased with your society, 
and I hope you will allow me to enjoy more of it — if 
you are not otherwise engaged, will you permit me 
to visit you on Sunday evening?'" 

The lady will blush, no doubt, she may tremble a 
little, but if your -proposition is acceptable, she may 
say, 

" I am grateful for your good opinion, and shall be 
happy to see you." 

Or, if her friends have not been consulted, as they 
usually are before matters proceed so far, she may 
say: 



118 ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 

" I am sensible of your kindness, Sir ; but I cannot 
consent to a private interyiew, without consulting my 
family." 

Or, she may refuse altogether, and in snch a case 
should do so with every regard to the feelings of the 
gentleman, and, if engaged, should say frankly: 

" I shall be happy to see you at all times as a friend, 
buc I am not at liberty to grant a private interview." 

A-, in all these affairs, the lady is respondent, there 
is little necessity for any directions in regard to lier 
conduct, as a "Yes," ever so softly whispered, is a 
sufficient affirmative, and as her kindness of heart 
will induce her to soften as much as possible her 
"No." 

To tell a lady, who has granted the preliminary 
favors, that you love her better than life, and to ask 
her to name the happy day, are matters of nefve 
rather than form, and require no teaching. 

LOVE LETTERS. 

A gentleman is struck with the appearance of a 
lady, and is desirous of her acquaintance; but there 
are no means within their reach of obtaining an in- 
troduction, and he has no friends who are acquainted 
with herself or her family. In this dilemma there is 
no alternative but a letter. 

There is, besides, a delicacy, a timidity, a nervous- 
ness in love, wliich makes many men desire some 
mode of communication, rather than the speech, 
which, in such cases, too often fails them. In short, 
there are reasons enou2;h for writing — but when the 
enamored youth has set about penning a letter to the 
object of his passions, how dit cult does he find it! 
How many efforts does he make, before he succeeds 
in writing one to suit him ! 

It may be doubted whether as many reams of paper 
have ever been used in writing letters upou all other 
subjects, as have been consumed upon epistles of 
love; and there is probably no man living who has 
not at some time written, or desired to write, some 
missive which miglit explain his passion to the amia- 
ble being of whom he was enamored ; and it has been 
the same, so far as can be judged, in all the genera- 
tions of the world. 

Affairs of the heart — the delicate and interesting 
preliminaries of marriage, are oftener settled by the 
pen than in any other manner. 

To write the words legibly, to spell them correctly, 
to point them properly, to begin every sentence and 
every proper name with a capital letter, every one is 
supposed to learn at school. 



ON COUKTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 119 

To give e<arap]es of letters would be useless and 
absurd, as each particular case must necessarily re- 
quire a widely different epistle, and ilie judgment 
and feelings of the party writing must be left to con- 
trol both the style and substance of the letter. 

For a love "letter, good paper is indispensable. 
When it cm be procured, that of a costly quality, 
gold-edged, perfumed, or ornamented in the French 
style, may be properly used The letter should be 
carefully enveloped, and nicely sealed with a fancy 
wafer — not a common one, of course, where any 
other can be had; or what is better, plain or fancy 
sealing wax. As all persons are more or less gov- 
erned by first impressions and externals, the whole 
affair should be as neat and elegant as possible. 

POPPING THE question; 

There is nothing more appalling to a modest and 
sensitive young man than asking the girl he loves to 
marry him ; and there are few who do not find their 
moral conrage tasked to the utmost. Many a man 
who would lead a forlorn hope, mount a breach, and 
"seek the bubble reputation e'en in the cannon's 
mouth,'' trembles at the idea of asking a woman the 
question which is to decide his fate. Ladies may 
congratulate themselves that nature and custom have 
made them the responding party. 

In a matter which men have always found so terri- 
ble, yet which, in one way or other, cheyhave always 
contrived in some aAvkward way to accomplish, it is 
not easy to give instructions suited to every emer- 
gency. 

A man naturally conforms to the disposition of the 
woman he admires. If she be serious, he will ap- 
proach the awful subject with due solemnity — if gay 
and lively, he will make it an excellent joke— if 
softly sentimental, he must woo her in a strain of 
highwrought romance — if severely practical, he relies 
upon straightforward common sense. 

There is one maxim of universal application — never 
lose an opportunity. What can a woman think of a 
lover who neglects one? Woman cannot make direct 
advances, but they use infinite tact in giving men 
occasions to make them. In every case, it is "fair to 
presume that when a woman gives a man an oppor- 
tunity, she expects him to improve it; and though he 
may tremble and feel his pulses throbbing and ting- 
ling through every limb ; though his heait is filling 
Tip his throat, and his tongue cleaves to the roof of 
his mouth, yet the awful question must be asked— -the 
fearful task accomplished. 



120 ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 

In the country, the lover is taking a romantic walk 
by moonlight with the lady of his love — talks of the 
beauty of the sceoery, th* harmony of nature, and 
exclaims, "Ah! Julia, how happy would existence 
prove, if I always had such a companion !" 

She sighs, and leans more fondly on the ar-m that 
tremblingly supports her. 

" My dearest Julia, be mine forever !" 

This is a settler, and the answer, ever so inaudible, ^ 
" makes or uudoes him quite." 

" Take pity ou a forlorn bachelor," says another in 
a manner which may be either jest or earnest, "marry 
me at once and put me out of my misery." 

" With all my heart, whenever you are ready," re- 
plies the laughing fair. A joke carried thus far is 
easily made earnest. 

A point is often carried by taking a thing for 
granied. A gentleman, who has been paying atten- 
tions to a lady, says, "Well, Mary, when is the 
happy day?" " What day, pray?" she asks, with a 
conscious blush. 

" Why, everybody knows that we aie going to get 
married, and it might as well be one time as another? 
so when shall it lie?" 

Cornered in this fashion, there is no reti'eat. 

"Jane, I love you! Will you marry me?" would 
be somewhat abrupt, and a simple, frankly given, 
"Yes!" woald be short and sweet, for an answer. 

"Ellen, one word from you would make me the 
happiest man in the universe ! " 

" I should be cruel not to speak it then, unless it is 
a very hard one." 

" It is a word of three letters, and answers the 
quesf.on. Will you have nie?" 

The lady, of course, says Yes, unless she happen to 
prefer a word of only two letters, and answers No. 

And so this interesting ana teirible process in prac- 
tice, simple as it is in theory, is varied in a hundred 
ways, according to circumstances and the various dis- 
positions. 

One timid gentleman asks, "Have ynu any objec- 
tions to change your uame?" and follows this up with 
another, which clinches its significance, "How would 
mine suit you ?" 

Another asks, "Will you tell me what I most wish 
to know?" "Yes, if I cau." 

" Tlie happy day when we shall be married." 

Another ^ays, ''My Eliza, we must do what all the 
world evidently expects we shall." 

" All the w:r.d is very impertinent." 



ON COURTSHIP AKD MARRIAGE. 131 

" I know it — but it can't be helped. When shall I 
tell the parson to be ready?" 

As a general rule, a gentleman never need be refused. 
Every woman, except a heartless coquette, finds the 
means of discouraging a man whom she does not in- 
tend to have before the matter comes to the point of a 
declaration. 

MARRIAae CEREMONY. 

Weddings are everywhere accompanied with some 
degree of ceremony, and are usually considered as oc- 
casions of festivity. 

The preliminaries having been arranged by the con- 
tracting parties, and the lady having named the happy 
day, preparations are made for the wedding. Those 
who belong to the Episcopal and Roman Catholic 
churches are usually married at church, in the morn- 
ing, and by the prescribed forms In some cises there 
is a wedding party given in the evening ; in others, 
the happy couple make a short wedding tour, and issue 
cards of invitation on their return. 

Among other denominations, the parties are married 
by a clergyman or magistrate ; and in the State of New 
York, marriage being considered by the law only a 
civil conti-act, it may be witaessed by any person. 

Where a wedding is celebrated in the usual forms, 
cards of invitation are issued at least a week before- 
hand. The hour selected is usually eight o'clock, P. M. 
Wedding cake, wines, and other refreshments, are 
provided by the bride and her Friends for the occasion. 
The bride is usually dressed in pure white — she wears 
a white veil, and her head is crowaed with a wreath 
of white flowers, usually artificial ; and orange blos- 
soms are preferred. She should wear no ornaments 
but such as her intended husband or her father may 
present her for the occasion— certainly no gift, if any 
such were retained, of any former sweetheart. 

The bridesmaid, or bridesmaids, if there be two, are 
generally younger than the bride, and should also be 
dressed in white, but more simply. The bridegroom 
must be in fall dress — that is, he must wear a dre>s 
coat, whicli, if he pleases, may be faced with white 
satin ; a white satin vest, blade pantaloons, and dress 
boots or pumps, black silk stuckiugs, white kid gloves, 
and a white cravat. The bridegroom is attended by 
one or two groomsmen, who should be dressed in a 
similar manner. It is the duty of the bridesmaids to 
assist in di essing the bride, and making the necessary 
preparations for the entertainment of the guests. The 
chief groomsman engages the clergyman or magistrate, 



123 ON COUliTSHIP AND MAKRIAGE. 

aad upon his arrival, introduce^* him to the bride and 
bridegroom, and the friends of the parties. 

The invited guests, upon their arrival, are received 
as at other parties, and after visiting the dressing 
rooms, and arranging their toilets, they proceed to the 
room in which the ceremony is to be performed. In 
some cases, the marriage is performed before the ar- 
rival of the guests. 

When the hour for the ceremony has arrived, and 
all things are ready, the wedding party, consisting of 
the happy couple, with the bridesmaids and grooms- 
men, walk into the room arm in arm ; the groomsmen, 
each attending the bridesmaids, preceding the bride 
and bridegroom, and take their positions at the head 
of the room, which is usually at the end farthest from 
the entrance; the bride standing facing the assemb y, 
on therightof the bridegroom-^the bridesmaids taking 
their position at her right, and the groomsmen at the 
left of the bridegroom. The principal groomsman now 
formally introduces the clergyman or magistrate to the 
bride and bridegroom, and he proceeds to perform the 
marriage ceremony. If a ring is to be used, the bride- 
groom procures a plain gold one, previously taking 
some means to have it of the proper size. 

As soon as the ceremony is over, and the bridegroom 
has kissed the bride, the clergyman or magistrate 
shakes hands with the bride, saluting her by her 

newly acquired name, as Mrs. , and wishes 

them joy, prosperity, and happiness ; the groomsmen 
and bridesmaids then do the same, and then the prin- 
cipal groomsman brings to them thy other persons in 
the room, commencing with the parents and relatives 
of the parties, the bride's relatives having precedence, 
and ladies being accompanied by gentlemen. In this 
manner all present are expected to make their saluta- 
tions and congratulations, first to the newly married 
couple, and tlien to their parents and friends. And 
where the wedding ceremonv has been performed be- 
fore the arrival of the guests, they are received near the 
door, having, of course, first visited the dressing rooms, 
and introduced in the same manner. The groomsman 
takes occasion, before the clergyman or magistrate 
leaves, to privately thank him for his attendance, at 
the same time placing in his hand the "marriiige fee, 
which is wrapped up nicely in paper ; and if more than 
the legal sum, as is frequently the case where the 
parties are wealthy, it is usually in gold. The bride- 
groom, of course, takes an early opportunity to reim- 
burse his groomsman for necessary expenses. 

When the presentations and congratulations are 



ON COURTSHIP AND MAIIRIAGE. 123 

over, that is, when the guests have arrived, the bridal 
party, which till now has kept its positiou, mingles 
with the rest of the company, and joins in the dauciug 
or other amusements. 

THE BRIDAL BREAKFAST. 

After the ceremony, the new-made couple generally 
repair to the house of the bride's parents to partake of 
a break'ast, to which near relations and intimate 
fiiends are invited. The bride and biidegroom return 
from church in the same carriage, althoutrh etiquette 
requires them to come to church separately 

The bride will retain her bridal costume during the 
breakfast. She should afterwards changH lier bridal 
array fur a walking dress, before she .-<tarts on her 
wedding tour. Good taste points out that all bridal 
attributes should now be entirely discarded. We can- 
not imagine what gratification a young couple — really 
fond of each other — can derive from proclaiming to tue 
inhabitants of the towns they pass through, (supposing 
they do not travel by railway,) in virtue of the white 
favors hoisted by the postilions of their travelling car- 
riage, that they have pledged their vows that same 
morning on what the newspapers so magniloquently 
style, the"hymenial altar." It, however, this kind 
of notui-iety be pleasing to them, by all means let 
them set all the little boys in the street hurrahing in a 
shrill key, and all the chambermaids peeping through 
the windows as they pass. To us, this seems as vul- 
gar in its way as the spirit of display which prompts 
our Transatlantic brethren to hire, at a vast expense, 
the white satin bridal chamber in one of the great 
American hotels. 

THE BRIDAL CHAMBER. 

The festivities should not be kept up too late; and 
at the hour of retiring, the bride is to be conducted to 
the bridal chamber by the bridesmaids, who assist her 
in her night toilet. The bridegroom, upon receiving 
notice, will retire without further attendance or cere- 
mony. 

The practice of kissing the bride is not so common 
as formerly, and in regard to this, the taste of the 
bridegroom may be consulted, as the rest of the com- 
pany follow the example of the groomsman ; but the 
parents and very near relatives of the paities, of 
course act as affection prompts them. 

The chamber frolics, such as the whole company 
visiting the bride and bridegroom after they are in 
bed, which was done some years ago, even at the 



12i ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 

marriage of monarchs, and the ca^fcom of throwing the 
stocking, etc., are almost universally dispensed with. 

AFTER MARRIAGE. 

After marriage, the bridal party usually travel for a 
week or two ; upon their reciira, it is customary for 
the bride tobe at home for a few days to receive visits. 
The first four weeks after marriage constitute the 
honeymoon. 

You need not retain the whole of your previous ac- 
quaintances ; those only to whom you send cards are, 
after marriage, considered in the circle of your visit- 
ing acquaintance. The parents or fri^-nds of the bride 
usually sead the c;rds to her counections; the bride- 
groom selects those persons among his former associ- 
ates whom be wishes to retain as such. The cards are 
sometimes united by a silken cord, or white ribbon, to 
distinguish tUDse of a newly-married pair from ordi- 
nary visitors ; but it is doubtful whether it be in, good 
taste. 

A married woman may leave her own or her hus- 
band'scaid in returning a visit; the latter only would 
be adopted as a resource in the event of her not hav- 
ing her OAvn with her. 

A lady will not say "My husband," except among 
intimates— in every otlier case she should address him 
by his Christian name, calling him " Mr." It is 
equally good ton. wheu alone with him to designate 
him by his Christian name. 

ACQUAINTANCES AFTER MARRIAGE. 

"When a man marries, it is understood that all for- 
mer acquaintanceship ends, unless he intimates a de- 
sire to renew it by sending you his own and his wife's 
card, if near, or by letter, if distant. . If this be 
neglected, be sure no furthf-r intercourse is desired. 

In the first place : A bachelor is seldom very partic- 
ular in the selection of his companions. So long as he 
is amused, he will associate freely enough with those 
wh>ise morals and habits would point them out as 
highly dangerous persons to introduce into the sanc- 
iity of domestic life. 

Secondly: A married man'has the tastes of another 
to consult ; and the friends of the husband may not be 
equally acceptable to the wife 

Besides, newly-married people may wish to limit 
the circle of their friends, from commendable motives 
of economy. When a man ftr.-st "sets up" in the 
world, the burden of an extensive and iudi.scrimiuaie 
acquaintance may be felt in various wa^s. Many 



ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIA3E. 135 

have had cause to regret the weakness of mind which 
allowed them to plunge into a vortex of gayety and 
expense they could ill afford, from which they have 
found it difficult to extricate themselves, and the 
effects of which have proved a serious evil to them in 
after life. 

When a man is about to be married, he usually 
gives a dinner to his bachelor friends, which is 
understood to be their conge, unless he choose to re- 
new their ac(iuaintance. 

COXCLUSIOX 

HOW TO BE HAPPY IS THE WEDDED STATE. 

How to be happy! Ay, that is the grand question, 
the knotty point that so many strive, yet so seldom 
manage to solve! We have "heretofore offered a few 
homely recipes for domestic happiness, in the pages 
of the "Illustrated Magazine" — we would now fain 
add a few hints of a more serioiTS kind. 

Tet, fear not, gentle reader, tliat we wi-h to preach 
a homily; we will endeavor to be brief, and avoid 
being prosy ; and certainly, if you a e about entering 
into the bonds of matrimony, it cannot displease you 
to learn a few secrets from ourselves, who, having 
passed the Rubicon that divides single life from the 
married state, have succeeded in finding that phoenix's 
nest — happiness in wedlock ! 

First of all, let us premise that, if you belong to 
that class with whom love forms no necessary ingre- 
dient of the marriage contract — with whom the 
amount of the future husband's rent-roll and of 
the jointure she is to enjoy after his death, are the 
chief preoccupations that fill the young bride's heart ; 
while her equally fashionable suitor merely looks 
upon her as the necessary link to ensure her father's 
interest at court, or in the House of Lords, and to 
bring him a legal heir to his ancient name, but would 
much rather squander thousands on some favorite 
opera-dancer, or some equally favorite race horse: by 
all means do you, madam, take the precautions you 
would against an enemy, and have your fortune se- 
cured to yourself. But, as regards your menage we 
have nothing to advise, being convinced you will 
scarcely ever meet ; and that one will be frequenting 
balls and parties, while the other will seek his amuse- 
ment in clubs and gaming-houses, or behind the scenes 
of some fashionable theatre. If you bsar with one 
another decently, and keep up the proprieties, that is 
all that can be expected of a marx-iage begun under 
such auspices. 



126 ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 

Should your lot, on the contrary, be cast amongst 
the happier middle class, then would we say: Eschew 
all marriage settlements, which only put money, that 
can be better employed, into the pockets of lawyers, 
and saddle you with a couple of tyrants called trus- 
tees, wliora, like the old man in Siubad, yon can 
never shake off during life. But if prudent papas cry 
" Order," and insist on a settlement, because the 
husband may be in business, and become a bankrupt, 
or because he fancies his future son-in-law may 
squander the wife's fortune, we are fain to say " So be 
it then." But in that case, do you, who ai-e a loving 
bride, take care and have well explained to you what 
you undertake ; and mind chat overstrained parental 
prudence does not sternly prevent you, under cover of 
protecting your interests, from aiding your husband 
by a timely loan, should he be in any temporary em- 
barrassment. 

Should there be no settlement, and the couple be in 
easy circumstances, we would advise the fixing a sum 
for pin-money, which would avoid a number of dis- 
putes, particularly among touchy characters We 
would advise the wife never to exceed the sura agreed 
upou, as some men would make that a fertile tiieme 
for expatiating on the extravagance of ladies. Ma.uy 
wives much prefer that their dressmaker, silk-mercer, 
shoemaker, and others, should send in their bills to 
their husbands, calculating that the brunt of his ill- 
temper, if sucli is called forih, will fall upon the 
tradespeople for running up such accounts ; but this 
is a bad habit that only enc jurages profuse e.xp<>ndi- 
ture, where, perhaps, there is not adequae fortune to 
meet it. These wives resign themselves to au explo- 
sion at every Christmas, as a necessary storm for 
clearing the matrimonial atmosphere : and once over, 
they feel they liave eleven mouths before auotlier shall 
gather over their heads, and again relapse into the 
enti ing habit of ordering all they require, regardless 
of the future. Discard this fertile source of quarrel ; 
and do not you, madam, lay up in store for yourself 
to be told, in case yout husband becomes insolvent, 
that you mainly helped to ruin him. 

A cheerful home is the best security for happiness. 
There is not on'y a moral but a physical cheerfulness 
that should be attended to. A well lighted room, a 
neatly served d.uuer, everythiuif clean, and tidy, and 
bright, predisposes the mind to pleasant impressions. 
Let the prudent wife strive to attain this state of 
things (each a?cordlng to the means fortune places at 
her disposal,) if sne values her domestic happiness. 



ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 127 

We have all been taught that "a kind word turne^.h 
away wrath." Well, be persuaded that the sight of a 
cheerful, comfortable-looking interior will go a great 
way to dispel the gloom of an ill-tempered man when 
he comes home. Let the dinner be relishing and 
savoury ; it costs no more to have things nicely than 
it does to have them carelessly cooked; but it will 
make a great difference to you, fair lady, in this re- 
spect: if your husband does not hud his cable superior 
by its relish and cleanliness to the dining-mums he 
used to frequent, he will often resort to them under 
pretence of business, but, in reality, to escape from the 
ordinary to which you condemn him. If he is a good- 
natured fellow, he will not tell you why, for fear of 
vexing you; but you will gradually lose more of his 
company. If he is a grumbler he will embitter all the 
meals with his sarcastic remarks. 

Supposing, however, that the physical comforts of 
your home have been duly attended to, let us earnestly 
advise you to rub out all old scores, and never con- 
tinue the breakfast quarrel at dinner, nor resume the 
dinner hostilities next day at breakfast. If you 
would but try and meet each time with entirely fresh 
mnds, solely bent on being agreeable to each other, 
there would be but little work left for the gentlemen. 
of the Court of Arches. 

Never try to rule each other, and, above all, never 
struggle to have the last word. If the philosopher of 
old deemed it necessaiy to turn his tongue seven times 
in his mouth before he spoke, for fear of saying some- 
thing silly, would it not be wise on your part to 
perform a similar process — or say only half, as more 
consonant to modern impatience — before you gave 
utterance to angiy or bitter words? Remember that 
a word spoken can never be recalled, and can seldom 
be atoned for. 

Have no secrets from each other, for they are a 
fertile source of groundless jealousy, and frequently 
of more serious consequences still. How many 
husbands, from concealing the true state of their 
affairs from their wives, who in turn have concealed 
their debts from their husbands, suddenly awake to 
the realities of their position — the wife to find they are 
penniless, and must give up their luxurious home to 
satisfy creditors, and the husband to di~cover that he 
is far more deeply implicated than he thought by his 
wife's liabilities, though, most likely, had she known 
economy to be requisite, she would have faithfully 
practised it. 

And last, but not least, before we take leave of our 



13S THE TKUE VEKSION OF BLUE BEAllD. 

readers, let us advise you, after having duly observed 
all the proprieties of Bridal Etiquette as set forth in 
oar treatise, up to the time of your marriage, not to 
allow yourselves to be hampered with any needless 
formalities, otherwise than preserving those delicate 
observances toward each other that even the nearest 
and dearest should never wholly abjure. Thus we 
confess we dislike seeing a husband smoke with his 
wife on his arm ; while we should thnk her very silly 
if she objected to his doffing his cravat on a hot sum- 
mer's day, when sitting in their parlor by themselves. 
We once knew a lady who boasted to us that her 
husband was so well bred that, during the whole 
course of their married life, he had never entered a 
room before her. This we simply thought to be a 
glaring proof that their could be very little love or 
intimacy between them. Another equally great mis- 
take on the wife's part, is to fancy herself slii/hted if 
her husband reads after he has come home, instead 
of spending the evening sitting by the fire in idleness. 
Let her remember, if he be a maa in business, it is his 
only time for indulging in literary recreation — thnt 
conversation, when compulsory, soon flags — and that 
if he is obliged to be thus ceremonious at home, he 
will soon fly to a book club, or some such institution, 
for relief. Depend upon it, it is not bowing and 
courtseying, but kindness and an obliging spirit, that 
form the best materials for making up the true code 
of Home Etiquette. 



THE TRUE VERSION OF THE STORY OF 
BLUE BEARD. 

There was an old rooster, his beard it was blue; 
he'd houses in plenty, and green backs a few. He 
run a big castle that stood by a ditch — in short this old 
chap was enormously rich. He d.ibbled in politics, 
mostly for sport, and twice he was sent to the General 
Court — he voted for temperance all that he kjiew, but 
often at home got infernally "blue." But that was 
consistent, you very well know, to get drnnk in 
private and publicly " blow." And so he " blmv " 
loudly, and passed half his life in looking around for 
a suitable wife, to cook up his dinners and call him 
her " boss," and take a good licking wheno'er ho was 
cross. This "dutfer " was guilty of numerous crimes 
—he'd married already some six or eight times. His 



TUB TUUE VERSION OF BLUE BEAKD. 129 

wives were all dead, but no funeral was seen to come 
from the castle, now, wasn't this mean to keep all the 
neighbors from "waking the dead? Full mauy a 
curse was invoked on his head, bv thirsty retainers, 
who took great delight in drinking and howling, 
mixed up with a fighc. 

A '♦ Personal " notice he penned very solemn — 'twas 
put at the head of a newspaper column: — "A lady is 
wanted both loving and kind, who constantly can her 
own business mind, to cook, wash and scrub from the 
earliest morn, and take care of children — providing 
they're born ; to look after me when I chance lo be 
drunk, and to tuck me up nice when I lie in my bunk 
— on none of my actions must she play the spy, and 
one that's inquisitive need not apply." 

There was an old widow, two daughters had she; 
she did this most tempting advertisement see. Her 
girls could play cribbage, pianos and such, and swill 
iager beer just as if they were Dutch. Their mother 
paid to them — "You've loafed on me long ; now look 
you for husbands, and both go it strong. This Blue 
Beard, 'tis true, is the vilest of scamps, but one of you 
go for the old devil's stamps." She dressed tbeni iu 
harness of golden display, and look them to Blue 
Beard one fine summer's day ; she said to him — " Sir, 
take your pick out of these; now, have your own 
choice, and select whom you please." He put on his 
spectacles, looked at the pair, and picked out the oue 
with the queeuliest air, exclaiming, with quite an 
un-Christiaulike oath, "If 1 were a Mormon I'd 
marry you both." 

The wedding was splendid, the whiskey flowed 
free, and Mrs. Blue Beard was a beauty to see, cheap 
jewels adorning her bosom so fair, while sassage fat 
gleamed 'mid the gold or her hair. Alone in their 
chamber B. Beard loudly cried, ''Come close to my 
waistcoat, my dear little bride!" The honeymoon 
passed — 'twas a very great pity — the husband must 
go to a far distant city, some debts to collect. (But he 
wanted a spree, some Fulton street damsel he panted 
to see.) He said to his Sally — "While I am away, 
enjoy yourself greatly, my darling, I pray. The jug's 
in the closet — in sadness don't sigh, lut take a good 
plugger whenever y oil' re dry. The rum being out lo 
the-grocery go, and get a supply — they will trust you, 
1 know. i?Jow, here are the keys ot the rooms to ex- 
plore, apartment*; located on every floor ; but this little 
key doth belong to a place in which you must never, 
my Hear, show your face. Just show'youi'self worthy 
of confidence. So, one kiss, little sweetheart — and 
9 



130 THE TRUE VERSION OF BLTJE BEARD. 

now I must go." He left, and his -wife was quite 

glad when he went. In roaming the castle her nme 
she long spent. She visited all of the rooms exte])C 
one, and that she must enter or «poiled be her Jan. 
It was the apartment to which the small key belonged 

— she deteimined the secret to see. She opened the 
door with a fluttering heart — no wonder she hollered 
aud gave a gieat start: suspended on hooks, just like 
sheep in a stall, were all Blue B.'s wives— some were 
short, some tall, some fat and some thin— some were 
ugly, some fair, iliey all had been murdered, aud 
tucked up right there. The lady in fright, drop] ed 
the key on the floor, where the blood lay in puddles 
— 'twas covered with gore. It couldn't be washed; 
so she sat down to wait till Blue B. came staggering 
up to the gate. The keys from his wife with suspicion 
he took, and on the sniall key cast a withering Jonk. 
Oh' that was enough — Mrs. B. was betrayed. The 
tyrant loud bellowed — " Tis time that you prayed. 
Your name I must add to the list on my books— go 
join all the others that hang on the hooks." The wife 
in distraction implored him to spare her life till she 
neatly could frizzle her hair. Old B. B. consented — 
she hurried up stairs, but wasted no time, then, in 
saying her prayers; she said to her sister— '■ Make 
haste, my dear Ann, climb up on the chimney, aud 
look for a man!" JN^o man was in sight — then the old 
tyrant cried,-" come down aud be killed like a dutiful 
bride !" Then Fatty-ma — that was tie wife's maiden 
name — said — " * h, sister Ann! this most terrible 
game must surely go ou ; and my blood must be 
spilled." Old B. B. roared out — "Please come down 
aud be killed." Then, just at that moment, some men 
hove in sight, and tilled sister Ann with a thrill of 
delight. These men were the brothers of Mrs. B. B., 
Hud they were just coming, it seems, to take tea. Old 
Blue Jowls lushed in with a big carving-knife, de- 

. termined to cut up in slices his wife, wheu in rushed 
her brothers, who gave a great shout— they tackled 
old Blue B., aud "busted his snout " They chawed 
him up like a large plate of hash, broke into his cof- 
fers, and stole all his cash ; drank up all his whiskey, 
and had a good time, in that gloomy castle, theatre 
of crime. So virtue did triumph — a rascal was "sold," 
his beautiful widow got lashings of gold — her 
brothers to Congress were sent — a good plan, and 
happily married was fair sister Ann. A husband is 
wanted by widow B. B. — his beard must be lengthy 
aud comely to see; It may be red, foxy, or sable in 
hue — her only objection in color is blue 1 



EGYPTIAN OKACLE. 131 



EGYPTIAN ORACLE. 

Janitakt.— He who is born in this month will he 
lahorious, and a lover of good wine, hue very subject 
to infidelity ; he may too often forget to pay his debts, 
but he will be complaisant, and witbal a fine singer. 
The lady born iu this month will be a pretty, prudent 
housewife; rather melancholy, but very good tem- 
pered. 

FEBauART.— The man born this month will love 
money much, hut the ladies more; he will be stini^y 
at hoii.e, but prodigal abroad. The lady will be a hu- 
mane and artecionate wife and tender mother. 

March. — The man born in this month will be rather 
handsome ; he will be honest and prudent, but will 
die poor. The lady will be a passionate chatterbox, 
somewhat given to fighting, and in old age too fond of 
the bottle. 

April. — The man who has the misfortune to be born 
In this month will be subject to maladies. He will 
travel to his advantage, for he will marry a r ch and 
handsome heiress, who will make — what, no doubt, 
you all understand. The lady will be tall and stoat, 
with little mouth,' little feet, little wit, but a great 
talker, ».nd withal, a great liar. 

May. — The man born in this month will be hand- 
some and amiable. He will make his wife happy. 
The le-^j will be equally blest in every respect. 

JuxR. — The man will be of small stature, passion- 
ately fond of women and children, but will not be 
loved in return. The lady will be a giddy personage, 
fond of coflee ; she will marry at twenty-one, and be a 
fool at forty^five. 

July.— The man will be fair; he will suffer death 
for the wicked woman he loves. The female of this 
month will be passably handsome, with sharp nu^e 
and sulky temper. 

August.— The man will be ambiticus and coura- 
geous, but too apt to cheat. He will have several 
maladies and two wives. The lady will be amiable, 
and twice married ; but the second husband will cause 
her to regret her first. 

Septkmber.— He that is born in this month will be 
wise, strong, and prudent, bat too easy with his wife, 
who will cause him much uneasiness. The lady — 
round-faced, fair-haired, witty, discreet, afi:able, and 
loved by her friends. 



133 EGYPTIAN ORACLE. 

October. — The man will have a handsome face and 
florid complexion; he will be wicked in Uis youth, 
and always inconstant. He will promise one thing 
and do another, and alway.s remain poor. Tlie lady 
Will be pretty, a little given to contradict ion, a liiue 
coquettish, and sometimes a little too iond of wine — 
she will give her preference to eau de vie. She will 
have three husbands, who will die of grief; and she 
will best know why. 

NovhJiBEK. — Tne man born now will have a fine 
face, and be a gay deceiver. The lady of this month 
will be large, liberal, and full of noveltj'. 

Deckmbkk — The man born in this month will be a 
good sort of person, though passionate. He will de- 
vote himself to the army, and be betrayed by his wife. 
The lady will be amiable and handsome, with a good 
voice and well proportioned body ; she will be mar- 
ried twice, remain poor, but continue honest. 



A TALE OF LOVE. 

One quiet night in leafy June, 

When the btes and birds were all in tune. 

Two lovers walked beneath the mc^on. 
The night was fair— so was the ma.d ; 
They walked and talked beneath the shade, 

With none to harm or make afraid. 
Her name was Sue, and his was Jim, 
And she was fat, and he was slim ; 

He took to her, and she to him. 

Says Jim to Sue—" By all the snakes. 
That squirm among the brush and brakes, 

I like you better 'n buckwheat cakes." 
Says Sue to Jim — " Since you 've begun it, 
And beeu and come and done it, 

I like you next to a new bonnet." 
Says Jim to Sue — " My heart you 've busted; 

But 1 have always gals mistrusted." 
Says Sue to Jim — " 1 will be true; 
If you love me as I love you, 

No knife can cut our love in two." 
Says Jim to Sue — "Through thick and thin. 
For your lovyer count me in ; 

1 '11 court no other gal agin." 



A. WEDDING NIGHT-SHIRT. 133 

Jim leaned to Sue, Sue leaned to him ; 
His nose just touched her jockey brim. 
Four lips went — went — ahem ! ahem ! 

And then — and then — and then — and then! 
Oh ! gals, beware of men in June, 
"When crickets are in tune, 

Lest your name gets in the papers soon. 



A WEDDING NIGHT-SHIRT. 

It wasn't hardly the fair thing that the boys did to 
Joe Thompson the night he was married, but the 
temptation was irresistible. They couldn't have 
helped it to have saved their lives. I'll tell you how 
it was. 

Joe was about the most fancy-dressed buck in the 
town — over nice and particular — a perfect Miss Nancy 
in manners, always putting on airs, and more dainty 
and modest than a girl. Well, when his wedding 
night came, he was dressed trunk empty, and his 
pants especially fitted him as if they had been moulds 
and his legs caudles, and run into them. Tight was 
no name for them. Their set was immense, and he 
was prouder than half a dozen peacocks. 

"Aren't they nice, boys?" he asked of the two who 
wer« to be groomsmen, and see that he threw himself 
away in the most appioved fashion. 

"Stunning! Gorgeous!" replied Tom Bennett. "I 
never saw anything equal to them. But, I say. Joe, 
aren't they just the least bit tiglit? It strikes me that 
you will have some difSculty in bendiug — won't you? 

"Pshaw, no! They are as easy as an old glove. 
See!" 

To prove the matter he bent down so as to touch big 
patent leathers, when crack! crack! followed like the 
twin reports of a revolver. 

"Thunder!" exclaimed Joe, as he clasped his hands 
behind, and fouud a rent in the cassinieres from stem 
to stern "Thunder! the pants have burst, and what 
shall I do?" 

"I should rather think they had," answered Tom, 
getting purple in the face as he endeavored to control 
his laughter. " But there is no time to get another 
pair. It only wants half an hour to the standmg-up 
time, and we have got a mile to go. Carriage wait- 
ing, too " 

"What shall I do?— what shall I do?" 



134 A WEDDING NIGHT-SHIRT. 

" I'll tell you what, Joe, if mine would fit you, you 
should have them and welcome ; but they are about a 
mile too big — would set like a shirt on a b. an pole. I 
see no way but to have them mended." 

" Who can l get to do it, Tom?" 

"Well, I am something of a tailor, and can fix them 
so that they won't show. Hold on a minute, and I'll 
get a needle and thread." 

" Can you? May Heaven bless you." 

"Off with your coat," commanded Tom, as became 
back. " Now lay yourself over on the bed, and I will 
fix you in short order." 

The command was obeyed — the pants mended — the 
coat tails carefully pinned over, so as to conceal the 
"distress for rent," and all went merry as a marriage 
bell, until Joe followed his blushing bride to the nup- 
tial couch. 

There was only a dim light in the room, hut it ena- 
bled Joe, as he glanced bashfully around, to see the 
sweetest face in the world, the rosy cheeks and ripe 
lips, the lovely and loving blue eyes, and the golden 
curls, jast peeping out from the snowy sheets, and he 
extinguished it altogether, and hastened to uisrobe 
himself. OS came coat, vest, fancy necktie and collar, 
boots and socks, in a hurry ; but somehow the pants 
stuck. The more he tried, the more they wouldn't 
come, and he tugged vainly for half an hour. 

"Thunder!" muttered Joe. 

"What is the matter, dear?" came in the softest of 
accents from the bed, where somebody was wondering 
if he was ever going to come to her arms. 

It was a moment of desperation. Joe was entirely 
overcome by the situation, and forgetting his accus- 
tomed bashtulness, blurted out: 

" IIoUj, that cursed Torn, Bemip.tt has sewed my 
pay'ts, draivers, shirt and undershirt all together P' 

" It is too bad. Wait a moment, dear." 

A little, stockingless foot first peeped out, then a 
ruffled night-dress, the lamp was lighted, a pair of 
scissors found, and Joe released. 

Although Joe denies it, Tom Bennett swears that his 
wedding shirt was of the shortest possible lengthy 
reasoning a posteriori I 



DEEAMS AND DKEAMIXG. 135 



DREAMS. 

The Phenomena of Dreams — Activity of the 
Mental Faculties During Sleep — Novel Ideas 
on the Subject — Remarkable Instances, etc. 

DREAMma 

The mind, liberated from the shackles of its earthly 
teuement, opens upon its career of fancy. It annihi- 
lates space and time. The earth is too narrow for its 
wanderings, and the infinite expanse is alone capable 
of furnishing a field for its rapid flight. 

" How strange is sleep ! when his dark spell lies 
On the drowsy lids of human eyes, 
The years of a life will float along 
In the compass of a page's song ; 
And the mountain's peak and the ocean's dye 
"Will scarce give food to his passing eye." 

The stage of dreaming is characterized by the per- 
fect closure of one or more of the avenues of special 
sense. When this occurs, the harmony between the 
world and ourselves is broken. The mind is no longer 
controlled by outward influences, but is struggling 
under the combined effects of its own innate powers 
and imperfectly transmitted sensational impressions. 
We have lost the means wbereby the perception of an 
impression of our sense can be tested by the co-operat- 
ing scrutiny of another. Dr. Abercrombie says that 
" in dreams, the impressions which arise in the mind 
are believed to have a real and present existence ; and 
this belief is not corrected, as in the waking state, by 
comparing the conception with the things of the ex- 
ternal world; and that the ideas of images in the 
mind follow one another, according to associations 
over which we have no control ; we cannot, as in the 
waking state, vary the series, or stop it at our will. 
The wonderful clearness at times of the mind in 
dreams, must have been observed by all who have 
given attention to the subject. This lucidity is par- 
ticularly observed in imaginary conversation, public 
speaking and composing, the memory of which the 
individual seldom retains on awakening, bat he is 
astonished at the exuberance of his ideas, as well as 
the ease with which he expressed them. During 



136 DREAMS AND DREAMING. 

sleep, tlie mental organ presents the same phenomena 
as when awake, for in dreams certain elements only- 
are actively excited — those having reference to the 
subject of the dream — but the more passive organs are 
ready to change their state as circumstances may arise 
to change the character of the dream. On being sud- 
denly aroused, we are generally conscious of having 
dreamed, with little or no recollection, however, of the 
subject. But when we awake gradually — the necessity 
for longer sleep having ceased— the senses recover their 
functions one after another, till all are fully awake. In 
such cases the dream is most fully remembered. To this 
general fact, however, there are exceptions, for when 
suddenly aroused, either by intensity of mental ex- 
citement, or from external causes, we retain vividly 
the strong impression then existing, because the senses 
of external relation are taken by surprise, and, even 
though awakened, the train of thought cannot be, in 
all cases, so quickly arrested. The mind is, at all 
times, subject to its proper stimuli ; but during sound 
sleep, that of external relation is cut off by tho torpor 
of the .special senses, and it is, therefore less likely to 
be actively enga-'ed than when all its sources of com- 
mnuicatiou are open. Combe says, " The senses them- 
selves do not form ideas." We do not, neither can 
we, dream of what we possess ne knowledge. But 
memory may, on the impression of a sense, recall to 
mind a fact or circumstance, and the imagination may 
take it up and multiply it into a thousand forms, and 
invest them with an endless variety of fanciful crea- 
tions, fox 

*' Lulled in the countless chamber of the brain, 
Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain, 
Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise, 
Each stamps his image as the other flies." 

Dr. Parr says: "In dreams we seem to reason, to 
argue, to ccmpose, and in all these circumstances, 
during sleep, we are highly gratified, and think we 
excel. If, however, we remember our dreams, our 
reasonings we find to be weak, our arguments incon- 
clusive, and our compositions trifling and absurd." 
The powerful intellect will reason just as correctJy 
when asleep, upon the premises given, as when awake; 
but unfortunately the data are in many instances in- 
distinct and erroneous when the mind is debarred the 
influences of those means through which facts are 
presented, and the judgment regulated. The imper- 
fection of memory also, in sleep, is a prolific source of 
error in regard to what the actual powers uf the mind 
are in this condition. 



DKEAMS AND DKEAMING. 137 

JUDGMEJTT IN DREAMS. 

But the power of judging is probably as good as 
wliea awake, for it decides ouly upon the premises 
presented in either case, and diiriug sleep and in 
dreams the premises are usually scanty and at faalt. 
When Dr. Johnson, in referring to a dream in which 
he had a contest of wit with another individual said: 
"Now, one may mark here the effect of sleep in 
weakening the power of reflection ; for, had not my 
judgment failed me, I should have seen that the wit 
of this supposed antagonist, by whose superiority I 
felt myself depressed, was as much furnished by me 
as that which I thought 1 had been uttering in my 
own character." JSo doubt the error of judgment and. 
weakening of the reflective powers arose from a lack 
of all the circumstances in the case being presented to 
his mind. Certainly he has lost identity, because in 
his dreams he furnished argument for another person 
without comprehending that he was doing so, and, 
therefore, a just conclusion could not be arrived at. 
But the feeling of chagrin or mortification which he 
experienced, was a legitimate result of his judgment 
founded on the premises. 

ACTION OP THE MIND IN DREAM-. 

The action of the mental organ? will account for 
many of the singular associations during sleep, and 
in the language of the fair poetess will show that — 

"It is Thought at work amidst buried hours. 
It is Love keeping vigil o'er perishing flowers; 
Oh! we hear witiiiu us mysterious things. 
Of Memory and Anguish unfathomed springs, 
And Passion, those gulfs of the heart to fill 
With bitter waves which it ne'er may still." 

To illustrate the associate action of the mind in 
ileep we will transcribe the dream of Pi'ofessor Maas, 
of Halle, and his analysis of its phenomena. The 
Professor says that "I dreamed once that the Pope 
visited me. He commanded me to open my desk, and 
carefully examined all the papers it contained. 
While he was thus employed, a very sparkling dia- 
mond leli out of his triple crown into my desk, of 
which, however, neither of us took any notice. As 
soon as the Pope had withdrawn I retired to bed, but 
was soon obliged to rise on account of a thick smoke, 
the cause of which I had yet to learn. Upon exami- 
nation 1 discovered that the diamond had set lire to 
the papers in my desk, and burned them to ashes." 



138 DREAMS AND DKEAMlNa. 

In explanation lie observes, that " On the preceding 
evening I was visited by a friend, with whom I had 
a lively conversation upon Joseph the Second's sup- 
pression of monasteries and convents. With this idea, 
though I did not become conscious of it in the dream, 
was associated the visit which the Pope publicly paid 
to the Emperor Joseph at Vienna, in consequence of 
the measure taken against the clergy ; and with this 
again was combined, however faintly, the representa- 
tion of the visit which had been paid to me by my 
friend. These two events were, by the sub-reasoniug 
faculty, compounded into one, according to the estab- 
lished rule, that things which a^ree in their parts 
also correspond as to the whole, hence the Pope's 
visit was changed into a visit made to me. The .sub- 
reasoning faculty then, in order to account for the 
most extraordinary visit, fixed upon that which was 
th-^ most important object in my rooms, namely, the 
desk, or rather the papers it contained. That a 
diamond fell out of the triple crown was a collateral 
association, which was owing merely to the repre- 
sentation of the desk. Some days before, when open- 
ing the desk, I had broken the glass of my waccb, 
which I held in my hand, and the fragment fell 
among the papers, hence no further attention was paid 
to the diamond. But afterward the representation of 
the sparkling stone was again excited, and became 
the prevailing idea, hence it determined the succeeding 
association. On account of its similarity, it excited 
the representation of fire, with which it was con- 
founded, hence arose fire and .smoke. But, in the 
event, the writings only were burned, not the desk 
itself ; to which being of comparatively less value, the 
attention was not at all directed." 

SHORTNESS OF TIME IN DREAMS. 

One of the most remarkable phenomena connected 
with dreams is the shortness of time needed for their 
consummation. Lord Brougham says "that in dic- 
tating, a man may frequently fall asleep after uttering 
a few words, and be awakeued by the amanuensis 
repeating the last word to show that he has \jrritten 
the whole; but though five or six seconds only have 
escaped between the delivery of the sentence and its 
transfer to paper, the speaker may have passed 
through a dream extending through half a life-time " 
Lord Holland and Mr. Babbage both confessed this 
theory. The one was listening to a friend reading 
aloud, and slept from the beginning of the sentence to 
the latter part of the sentence immediately succeeding ; 



DREAMS AND DHEAMING. 139 

yet duriug this time he had a dream, the particulai-s 
of which it would have taken more tLaa a quarter of 
an hour to write. Mr. Babbage dreamed a succession 
of evencs, awoke in time to hear the conclusion of a 
friend's answer to a question he had jusc put to him. 
One man was liable to a feeling of suffocation accom- 
panied by a dream of a skeleton grasping his throat, 
whenever he slept in a lying position, and had an 
attendaut to wake him the moment he sank down. 
But, thoug'i awakened the moment he began to sink, 
the time sufficed for a long struggle with the skeleton. 
Another man dreamt that he crossed the Atlantic, 
spent a fortuight in Europe, and fell overboard when 
embarking to return, yet his sleep had not lasted more 
than ten minutes. 

PREMONITIONS IN DREAMS. 

The occasional premonitions communicated in 
dreams — "in visions of the night when deep sleep 
falletli upon man," — is a mystery which, as yet, has 
not, and never may be, unravelled. Lord Stanhope 
relates the following .singular instance of this descrip- 
tion: "A Lord of the Admiralty, who was on a visit 
to Mount Edgecombe, and who was much distressed 
by dreaming, dreamed that, walking on the seashore, 
he picked up a book, which appeared to be the log- 
book of a ship-of-war, of which his brother was the 
captain. He opened it and red an entry of the latitude 
and longitude, as well as of the day and hour, to 
which was added, 'our captain died.' The company 
endeavored to comfort him, by laying a wager that 
the dreain would be faLsified by the event, and a 
memorandum was made in writing of what he had 
stated, which was afterwards confirmed in every 
part cular." We also introduce the following letter 
of the Hon. William Talbot, of Alton, to the same 
effect: "In the year 17yS my father, Matthew Talbot, 
of Castle Talbot, county Wexford, was much surprised 
at the recurrence of a dream three several times during 
the same night, which caused him to repeat the whole 
circumstance to his wife the next morning. He 
dreamed that he had arisen as usual, and descended 
to his library, the morning being hazy. He then, 
seated .himself at his secretoire to write, when, hap- 
pening to look up a long avenue of trees opposite the 
windows, he perceived a man in a blue jacket, 
mounted on a white horse, coming toward the house. 
My father arose, and opened the windows ; the man 
advanced, presented him with a roll of papers, and 
told him they were invoices of a vessel which had 



140 DREAMS AND DREAMING. 

been wrecked, and had drifted in during the night on 
his sou-ia-law's (Lord Mount Morris') estate close by, 
and signed 'Bell and Siephenson.' My father's at- 
tention was only called to the dream from its frequent 
occurrence; but when he found himself seated at his 
desk on the misty morning, and beheld the identical 
person whom he had seen in his dreams, in the blue 
coat, riding on a gray horse, he felt surprised, and 
opening the window, waited the man's approach. He 
immediately rode up, and drawing from his pocket a 
packet of papers, gave them to my fatlier, stating they 
were invoices belonging to an American vessel which 
had been wrecked, and drifted in upon his lordship's 
estate, and there was no person on hoard to lay claim 
to the wreck, but that the invoices were signed ' Bell 
and Stephenson.' I assure you, my dear Sir, that the 
above is most faithfully given, and actually occurred ; 
but it is not more extraordinary than other examples 
of the prophetic powers of the mind or soul in sleep, 
which I have frequently heard related " 

Here is another singular instance related by Dr. 
Blanchard Fosgate, of Auburn: " Many years ago," he 
says, " when our family resided on the banks of the 
Mohawk, long before the thunder of the steam water- 
pa'ldle echoed along the shores of the Hudson, or the 
shrill whistle of the locomotive startled the silence of 
the glen and mountain ; when the river in the summer 
was crossed by ford or ferry, and in winter upon the 
often treacherous ice; early in the spring, before the 
river had broken up, my fathei', on the eve of depart- 
ure for New York, dreamed that he was in an ice 
house, striving to get out by climbing up its slippery 
contents. The dream was barely related and forgot- 
ten. The succeeding day, on horseback, he commenced 
his journey, and was obliged to cross the river. The 
ice, by evaporation, having lost much of its strength, 
he was precipitated into the sti-eam below. Timely 
assistance, however, rescued him from the impending 
daugei-, but the accident and the dream were ever 
after coupled in his memory. This dream was the re- 
sult of mental association during sleep, and was 
perfectly natural under the circumstances, but never- 
theless a premonition of danger. Had it aroused the 
refli^ctive powers when awake as stron^'ly as it did 
during sleep, the accident would probably have been 
avoided. It is curious to observe also how thoughts 
of the waking hours may be prolonged and modified 
in sleep. Dr. Fosgate says, in a work on sleep: "Not 
long since I was examining the Croton water works 
in New Vork city, including some pits which were 



DUEAMS AND DREAMING. 141 

opeu in the streets where the great iron tnbes were 
exposed. On i'ailiasj asleep I dreamed that in passim,' 
one of the pits I juniped down upon a tube about 
three inches in diameter, for the purpose of inspecciuy 
the work more miaately ; bat wbea in this position, 
ou casting my eyes below, an awiul chasm presente I 
itself, crossed in various directions by huge iron wtiter 
tubes, but the bottom was invisible. However, the 
depth was seventy feet. In what way this informa- 
tion was imparted is indistinct, but such appeared 
the awful depth under my slippery footing. I could 
fairly reach the surface above, but could lay hold of 
nothing, and therefore attempted to leap to the top, 

" I failed, and in falling lodged upon the place just 
left. This fall will never be forgotten, so long as ex- 
cess in fright, commingled with horror, can leave an 
impression on my mind. I then thought to cry for 
help, but dared not lest my feet should slip and 
precipitate me down the dark chasm beneath. After 
reflecting long upon my perilous situation, I com- 
menced feeling around the platform surrounding the 
top, and fiaally succeeded in fastening my fingers in 
a crevice between th • planks, by which means I drew 
myself up. The dream ordinarily would have been 
ended her, but my mind now turned upon the subject 
which had occupied my attention the preceding 
evening until a late hour. I thought in my dreams 
that which had just transpired was a prophetic dream, 
and to what it might point my reflections were di- 
rected, as well as to what would be the best course to 
elude the impending danger. During these reflections 
I awoke excessively exhausted. In this instance, in a 
dream, I dreamt that I was dreaming. It was a 
singular mental phenomenon, and of rare occurrence, 
but not alone on record." 



MY HORSE TRADE. 

Is there such a disease as " farming on the brain?" 
My other half says I am afHicted with it in its most 
aggravated or chronic form. I have entered my pro- 
test against the charge, backed with a fearful array 
of medical testimony ; still she persists in her opinion, 
taateria medica to the contrary notwithstanding. You 
doubtless inquire mentally what analogy there is be- 
tween "farming on the brain" and the caption of this 
sketch ? That is what I propose to elucidate. 



143 MT nORSE TRADE. 

Last fall I purchased a farm in Delaware county, in 
this State, on which 1 intend to move in the coming 
spring, in case I can convince my family that I am 
perfectly sane, and thereby avoid a writ of Lunatico 
inquirtndo and a residence in Dr. Kirkbride's Insti- 
tution in West PLiiladelphia. Having purchased the 
crops with the farm, I found on examination a surplus 
of hay, which, according to my ideas of farming, 
should be consumed on the premises. Learning that 
stock was cheap iu the fdU, I concluded to purchase 
an extra horse, which, ir 1 desired, I could sell in the 
spring at an advanced price. Ihiviug decided upon the 
purchase, the next thing-was .lie order of purchasing. 
I accordingly visited the horse bazaars on sale days,, 
where I found horses of all ages and sizes ; hordes of 
high and low deyree — perhaps pedigree would be the 
better word — with a spriulcliug of jack-asses and 
trained goats. Being a new actor upon the scene, I 
was at once "spotted" by the horse-jockeys, Avho 
gathered around me like blue- tailed flies in a molasses 
cask. 

"Did I wish to purchase a horse? What kind of an 
animal did I want? Carriage or farm horse? Fast 
or slow? Could accommodate me with a horse that 
would do his mile in 2.40, or one that would pull any 
thing tliat he was hitched to, from a loaded Dearborn 
wag >\\ to a tou of hay." 

I informed the gentleman of the whip and spur that 
I desired to purchase, cheap) for cash, a farm horse, 
not exceeding six years of age, sound iu wind and 
limb, kind in harness and easy under tlie saddle. 

Each and all could accommodate me with the very- 
horse I desired. I informed them that 1 proposed to 
purchase only one horse at that time, consequently 
could uot accommodate the entire fraternity. If they 
would let go my arms, keep their fingers out of my 
button-holes, and give me a chance to breath more 
freely, I informed them I would look at their stock. 

"Thut's the tork," said a loose-jointed, chambling 
six-footer, with a blanket overcoat and redeyes, which 
were constantly weeping diluted whiskey. "This way, 
sir ; here's a boss, cart, and harness; the very rig you 
want for a farm." This yere auamile is five years 
old, going on six. A child can drive him. Will haul 
anything you hitch him to. Goes bootiful under the 
s'addle. Sound as a hickory nut. Warrant him. 
Give you my written guarantee ef you make it out. 
Can't write myself. Never had any book learning; 
but I'm sound on the boss question. Bet your life ou 
that." 



MT HORSE TRADE. 143 

"Bat, my Christian friend," I replied — 

"Don't call me names, stranger; 1 don't belong to 
meeting." 

" But you are not a heathen, are you?" 

"No; not exactly one of them fellers; but I never 
went to Sunday-school, and don't belong to chirch." 

" I don't want a cart and harness. Only want a 
horse." 

"Better take the whole rig, stranger. You'll find 
the cart and harness useful." 

" Name the lowest price, cash down, for the horse, 
cart and harness, with a written guaranty that the 
horse shall prove sound, kind in harness and under 
the saddle." 

" Well, stranger, bein' it's you, and we've had con- 
siderable palaver I'll let yer have the rig for two liuii- 
di-ed dollars, and throw in this yere blanket and whip 
to bind the bargain." 

"I will look around further, and if I cannot suit 
myself better will see you again." 

"Better take this yere rig. You'll go further and 
farexoorsey 

I replied that I would go a little farther, and hoped . 
I should not fare worse. 

After canvassing the entire horse brigade without 
making a purchase, I informed my friend with the 
blanket-overcoat and red eyes that I would give him 
one hundred and fifty dollars for his rig." 

"Make it a hundred and seventy-five, and the rig is 
yours." 

"One hundred and fifty dollars. Will you take 
that amount?" 

"Can't go it, stranger. Say a hundred and sixty- 
five, and I'll sacrifice, the rig " 

" Very well ; I will take it. Drive the horse and 
cart around to Conk ling's stables, rear of the Girard 
House, call at my ofiice and I will pay you." 

I drew up a guaranty in the most approved form, to 
which my friend attached his X mark. I then paid 
him his money, and, bidding me good-day, he went on 
his way rejoicing, as the sequel will show. 

That evening at the tea table I informed Mrs. 

and the little 's of my purchase. I expatiated 

upon the fine qualities of my newly-acquired horse, 
repeating the language of my red-eyed friend, and 
winding up with the fact that I had made a great bar- 
gain. Coald sell the horse in the spring for two hun- 
dred and fift}' dollars, making a clear profit of one 
hundred dollars, including cart and harness, both of 
which would be useful on the farm. Mrs said 



114 MY HOUSE TKADE. 

my horse talk sounded veiy pretty ; loat she -would 
bet (a t'lbuloas amount) that I had been cheated — yes, 
skinnpA ! I suggested that she had bntter not bet ; 
that -aid araoanc would be very handy for pin-money 
when we removed to the farm. ' 

" What did I know about horses? That farm would 
be the ruin of me. I might as well make it an hos- 
2)italfi)r superanuated horses as anything else." In 
fac;, she intimated very strongly that she hoped I had 
been cheated. The oliildren thought differently. They 
seemed pleased with the idea of having another horse 
on the farm. Wouldn't it be delightful to go sleighing 
with a "spike te^im " — two horses abreast and the 
other tandem. " Papa kept store, and he was not 
cheated when he bought things." Little four-year- 
old closed the controversy by saying, "Papa didn't 
get cheated when he bought my philusx>tde — did he, 
ma?" 

That night I retired early, but visions of horse- 
jockeys, horses, carts, etc., disturbed my slumbers. 
Was there a possibility of my having been cheated 
by the man with the blanket-coat and red eyi-s? Cer- 
tainly not. Not the ghost of a chance. Hadn't I his 
•written guaranty to fall back on in case the horse 
should prove derilict in his duties. But in order to 
settle the matter as soon as possible, I started early on 
the following morning with my new rig for the farm, 
twelve miles distant from the city. It was a beautiful 
October morning, and for the first two miles things 
were "altogether lovely." Ascending a very steep 
bill soon afterward, a sound resembling the exhaust 
steam of an engine greeted my ears. Being near the 
railroad track, and running parallel with it, I looked 
for the locomotive, but could see none. 1 stopped my 
horse and the noise ceased. What could the matter 
be? Had I purchased a high-pressuve horse, and was 
be playing locomotive fjr my amusement? 1 di.s- 
mouuLed from the cart, took my horse by the head, 
and started him up the hill, when he commenced play- 
ing locomotive again. I remonstrated with him — said 
"remonstrance" being the butt end of a whalebone 
whip — but it was of no use. The faster I urged him 
along, the more he wouhhi't yfop Vloioing. A. huck- 
ster passing at the time said my horse had been drink- 
ing }iot water, and if I didn t allow the steam to escape 
faster, there would be an explosion, sure. 

I asked liim if he would have the kindness to ex- 
amine the animal. He complied with my request, and 
in ans.wer to my question, "What do you think of 
him?" replied instanter— 



MY H01£SE TKADE. liS 

"That hoi-se is a fraud ; he ain't worth shucks.''^ 

"What is wrong about him — isu't he sound P^ I 
asked. 

"There's nothing right about him. He's as rotten 
as a Limberger cheese. He's got the heaves bad. He's 
a regular"* blower,' and I'll bet ten to one he'll die on 
your hands before spring." 

I concluded it would not be safe to cover his bet, 
and after informing him how I came by the hoise, he 
advised me to return with him to the city, and not to 
wait on the order of going, but go at once. 

I took his advice, returned my "rig" to the livery 
stable, and set out in quest oi my red-eyed friend, in 
order to test the validity of his guaranty with the X 
autograph. Toward night I succeeded in finding him, 
and, after stating my grievances, he replied very 
colly:— 

"Well, stranger, you ain't goin' back on me, are 
yer?" 

I replied that I did not fully comprehend his mean- 
ing, but informed him that uab'ss he immediately re- 
funded the money I had paid him for the "rig," I 
would put him forwai'd in a judicial manner, which 
might possibly prove repugnant to hii, feelings. 

" Well, stranger, that talk sounds miijhty pritty ; 
but ef it's money yer want, yer can't git it here. I'm 
dead broke. Stamps all gone. Had a little game of 
old sledge last night which cleaned me out dry. A 
friend i)f mine wants that colt I sold you. He's got a 
large dray-horse, strong as an elephaut, but not quite 
so fast as your colt. What do you say for a dicker? 
Ef you'd like to trade, say the word, and I'll trot him 
round." 

"Tne horse or your friend?" I asked. 

" Both, stranger." 

""Very well, I will look at the horse." 

Horse and owner soon made their appearance, the 
latter slightly inebriated. 

"Now, stranger," ejaculated red-eye, "this yere 
boss '11 suit you to a T. Larger boss than your'n; 
worth more money. Give my friead fifty dollars to 
boot and he'll trade." 

Owner of large horse nodded assent. I ofi'ered 
twenty-five dollars, which, after a short parley be- 
tween red-eyes and inebriated individual, was accepted 
by the latter, and horse No 2 was soon ia-stalled in 
the quarters of locomotive, alias "blower." Next 
morning I engaged the services of an expert to ex- 
amine horse No 2, and give me an op.nion of his 
qualities, which for brevity, I opine, has never been 
excelled. It was as follows: — 
10 



146 CHOOSING FOR LIFE. 



Not -wortli a Continental ■ 



This last straw broke the camel's back. It was a 
stunner. The scales had fallen from my eyes. I could 
see it all through a glass, not dimly, but clearly as the 
noonday sun. I had been takea in aud done for. 
That day I sold horse No. 2 to a huckster of the colored 
persuasion for ten dollars, sent cart and harness to the 
farm, and am now a wiser, if not a better man. 

Moral. — "Never swap horses while crossing a 
stream" was the advice of one whose memory we all 
revere. Never swap horses with a horse-jockey, either 
on terra finna or while crossing the stream, is the 
advice of Samuel thu; Scribe. 



CHOOSiNG FOR LIFE. 

There is a general impression that the only end of 
an occupation is to make a living, and that the boy or 
youag man who selects that employment by which he 
can make the most money with the greatest rapidity 
makes the best choice. This is a deplorable error, 
wherever it exists. To provide an honorable and 
comfortable support for him-elf and family must ever 
be a main object of every man's business, and yet it 
is an unworthy thing to toil year alter year unceas- 
ingly with no other aim in life than to make money. 
The conviction shoitld be present with every young 
person, in selecting his occupation, that all his* time, 
powers and cir -umstances should be so engaged as to 
produce the greatest possible amount of good to the 
community around him, as well as to himself. Some 
may esteem this visionary and impossible, but ia 
reality it is the foundation of success. No one who 
gives to society, with wisdom and judgment, the 
benefit of a portion of his labor, will fail to reap a 
richer reward than mere personal ambition or love of 
money can secure. 

The choice of an occupation shoald be considered 
with all the care and thought due to a matter that is 
due to what may be a choice for life. It includes a 
thousand other choices, and if at tirst wisely made, 
nothing will be wasted, nothing lost, and life will be 
a continued progress. Benedict Arnold had ability and 
courage, but in his supreme selfishness and L-ve of 
display and of gold, he sold his honor, and would 
have sold the lives of his soldiers and the liberties of 
his country for a paltry bribe. Eve y man who lives 
merely for self and to gratify ambition, is a traitor to 



TOUNG MEN. 147 

his own welfare, his country and his race. In the 
character of Washiogton it is not cliiefly his abilities 
that liave won for liiin the admiration of the world, 
but the fact that duty wa^- supreme, and that although 
he longed for ease and tlie quiet of home, he sai rificed 
it all at the call of his country, and put his life and 
fortune at stake upon a perilous issue. Unselfishn> sa 
makes men really greater than ambition. 

A choice of occupation made on these principles will 
probably lead to the greatest success, of which the 
nature of him who pursues it is capable. As the effi- 
ciency of a watch depends upon the various parts be- 
ing so adjusted as to bear that relation to each other 
that was intended by the maker, so the complicated 
mechanism of man can only obtain real power and 
ultimate success in life by the proper adjustment of 
all his various powers 



YOUNG MEN. 

Alexander, of Mace'ion, extended his power over 
Greece, couqufred Egypt, rebuilt Alexandria, overran 
all Asia, and died at thirty-three years of age. 

Hannibal was but twenty-six when, after the fall of 
his father, Hamilcar, and Asdrubal, his successor, he 
was chosen commander-in-chief of the Carthageuian 
army. At twenty-seven he captured Saguntum from 
the Romans. Before he was thirty-four he carried his 
arms from Africa iuto Italy, conquered Publius Scipio 
on the banks of the Ticenus, routed Semprouioits 
near the Trebia, defeated Flamimis on his approach 
to the Appenines, laid waste the whole country, de- 
feated Fabius Maximas and Varro, marched into 
Capua, aud, at the age of thirty-six, was thundering 
at the gates of Rnme. 

Scipio Africanus was scarcely sixteen when he took 
an active part in the battle of Ctnnfe, and saved the 
life of his father. The wreck of the Roman cavalry 
chose him then for their leader, and he conducted 
them back to the capital. Soon after he was twenty, 
he was appointed pro-Consul of Spain, where he took 
New Carthage by storm. lie soon after defeated, suc- 
cessively, Asdrubal, (Hannibal's brother,) Mago, and 
Hanno, crossed into Africa, negotiated with Syphax, 
and Massashan king, returned" to Spain, quelled the 
insurrection there, drove the Carthageniaus wholly 
from the peninsula, returned to Rome, devised the 



148 TOUNG MEN. 

diversion a<?ainst the Carthagenians by carrying the 
war into Africa, crossed thither, destroyed the army 
of Sypliax, compelled the return of Hannibal, and de- 
feated Asdrubal a second time. 

Charlemagne was crowned King of the Franks be- 
fore he was twenty-six. At the age of twenty-eight 
he had conquered Aqaitania, and at the age of twenty- 
nine, he made himself master of the whole German 
and French empires. 

Charles XII, of Sweden, was declared of age by the 
States, and succeeded his father, at th°. age of filteen. 
At eighteen he headed the expedition against the 
Danes whom he checked ; and with a fourth of their 
number, he cut to pieces the Eassian army, com- 
manded by the Czar Peter, at Karva; crossed the 
Dwina, gained a victory over Saxony, and carried his 
arms into Poland. At twenty-one he had conquered 
Poland, and diccated to her a new sovereign. At 
twenty-foiir he had subdued Saxony ; and at twenty- 
seven he was conducting his victorious troops into the 
heart of Ptussia, when a severe wound prevented his 
taking comjnand in person, and resulted in his over- 
throw, and subsequent treacherous captivity into 
Turkey. 

Lafayette was a major-general in the American 
army at the age of eighteen ; was but twenty when he 
was wounded at Brandywine, bat twenty-two when 
he raised supplies for his array, on his own credit, at 
Baltimore, and but thirty-three when he was raised to 
the office of commander-in-chief of the National Guards 
of France. 

Kapoleon Bonaparte commenced his military career 
as an officer of artillery at the age of seventeen. At 
twenty-four he successfully commanded the artillery 
at Toulon. His splendid and victorious campaign iu 
Italy was performed at the age of twenty-seven. 
During the next year, when he was about twenty- 
eight, he gained a battle over the Austrians, in Italy, 
conquered Mantua, carried the war into Austria, rav- 
aged Tyrol, concluded an advantageous peace, took pos- 
.session of Milan and the Venetian republic, revolution- 
ized Genoa, and formed the Cisalpine republic. At the 
age of twenty-nine he received the command of the 
army against Egypt; scattered the clouds of Mame- 
luke cavalry, mastered Alexandria, Aboukir, and 
Cairo, and wrested the land of the Pharaolis and Ptole- 
mies from the proud descendants of vhe prophet. At 
thirty he fell among the Parisians like a thunderbolt, 
overthrew the dictatorial government, dispersed the 
council of five hundred, and was proclaimed First 



TOUNG MEN. Ii9 

Consul. At the age of tliirty-oue he crossed the Alps 
with aa army, and destroyed the Aastrians by a blow 
at Mareago. At the age of thirty-two he established 
the Code of Napoleon ; in the sRiae year he was 
elected Consul for life by the people, and at the age of 
thirty-three he was crowned Emperor of the Prench 
people. 

William Pitt, the first Earl of Chatham, was hue 
twenty-seven years of age whea, as a member of Par- 
liament, he waged the war of a giant against the cor- 
ruption of Sir Eobert Walpole. 

Th-e younger Pitt was scarcely twenty yej>,rs of age 
when, with masterly power, he grappled wi'th the vet- 
erans of Parliament in favor of America. At tweuty- 
two lie was called to the high and responsjjible trust 
of Chancellor of the Exchequer. It Avas at that age 
when he came forth in his might on the alfairs of the 
East Indies. At twenty-nine, during the first insauity 
of George III, he rallied arouud the Prince of Wales. 

Edmund Burke, at the age of nineteen, planned a 
refutation of tlie metaphysical theories of Berkley and 
Hume. At twenty he was in the Temple, the admira- 
tion of its inmates for the brilliancy of his genius and 
the variety of his acquisitions. At twenty-six he pub- 
lished hi^ celebrated satire entitled " Vindication of 
Natural Society." The same year he published his 
Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, so much admired 
for its spirit of philosophical investigation and the 
elegance of its language. At twenty-five he was first 
Lord of the Treasury. 

George Washington was only twenty-seven years of 
age when he covered the retreat of the British troops 
at Braddock's defeat; and the same year he was ap- 
pointed commander-in-chief of all the Virginia forces. 

General Joseph Warren was only twenty-nine years 
of age when, in defiance of the British soldiers 
stationed at the door of the church, he pronounced the 
celebrated oration which aroused the spirit of liberty 
and patriotism that terminated in the achievement of 
independence. At thirty-four he gloriously fell, gal- 
lantly fighting in the cause of freedom on Banker Hill. 

Alexander Hamilton was a lieutenant-colonel in the 
army of the American Revolution, and aid-de-cninp to 
Washington, at the age of twenty. At twenty-five he 
was a member of Congress from New York ; at thirty 
he was one of the ablest members of the Convention 
that framed the Constitution of the United States ; at 
thirty-one he was a member of tne New Yoi-k Conven- 
tion, and joint author of the great work entitled the 
"Federalist." At thirty-two he was Secretary of the 



150 YOUXG MEN. 

Treasury of theUuited States, and arranged the finan- 
cial brauch of the GoverDineut upon so perfect a plaa 
that no great improvement has ever been made upon 
it since by his successors. 

Thomas Hayvvard, of South Carolina, was but 
thirty years of age when he signed the glorious record 
of the nation's birth, the Declaration of Independence ; 
Eldredge Gerry, of Massachusetts, Benjamin flush and 
James Wilson, of Pennsylvania, were but thirty-one 
years of age ; Matthew Thornton, of New Hampshire, 
Thomas Jefferson, of Virginia, Arthur Middleton, of 
North Carolina, and Thomas Stone, of Maryland, 
thirty-three ; and William Hooper, of North Caro- 
lina, bat thirty-four. 

John Jiiy, when twenty-nine years old, was a mem- 
ber of the Revolutionary Cungiess, and being associ- 
ated with Lee and Livingston, on the committee for 
drafting an address to the people of Great Britain, 
drew up that paper himself, which was considered 
one of the most eloquent productions of the timw. At 
thirty-two, he penned the old Constitution of New 
York, and in the same year was appointed Chief Jus- 
tice of that State. At thirty-four, he was appointed 
Minister to Spain. 

At the age of twenty-six, Thomas Jefferson was a 
leading member of the Colonial Legislature in Vir- 
giuiii. At thirty, he was a member of the Virginia 
Convention; at tiiirty-two, a member of Congress, 
and at thirty-three, he drafted the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. 

Milton, at the age of twenty, had written his fluest 
miscellaneous poems, including his L'Ailegra, Pense- 
roso, Comus, and the nmst beautiful of Monodies. 

L.ird Byron, at the Hife of twenty, published his 
c lebrated satire upon English bards and Scotch re- 
viewers ; at twenty-four, the first two cantos of Childe 
Harold's Pilgrimage. Indeed, all the vast poetic 
treasures of his genius were poured forth, in their 
richest profusion, before he was thirty-four years old, 
and he died id thirty-seven. 

Pope wrote many of his published poems by the 
time he was sixteen years old; at twenty, his Essay 
on Criticism; at twenty-one, the Rape of the Lock, 
and at twenty-five, his great work — the Translation of 
the Iliad. 

Sir Isaac Newton had mastered the highest elements 
of mathematics, and the analytical method of Des 
Cartes, before he was twenty ; had discovered the new 
method of infinite series, of Auctions, and his new 
theory of light and colors. At twenty-five, he had 



HAPPY HINTS TO LADIES. 151 

discovered the new principle of the reflecting tele- 
scope, the laws of gravitatiua, and the planetary sys- 
tem. At thirty, he occupied the mathematical chair 
at Cambridge. 

Dr. D slight's Conquest of Canaan was commenced 
at the age of sixteen, and finished at twenty two. At 
the latter age he composed his celebrated dissertation 
on the history, eloquence, and poetry of the Bible, 
which was immediately published and re-published 
in Europe. 



HAPPY HINTS TO LADIES. 

To chemistry modern perfumery is perhaps more 
indebted than to any other art, tiiat conduces to the 
luxury of life. 2s^early every article of the toilet- 
bottle or satchel is made from waste, sometimes from 
most inodorous and repulsive matters. It is generally 
supposed that all the esseuces of flowers are produced 
by distillation. This is far from beiag the case. 
Some of them would be seriously iujui;ed by such a 
process, while some that abound iu fragrance and 
yield a very aromatic water, as the rose, afi"ord very 
little, if aay, essential oil in commou distillation. 
When vegetable matter is boiled with water in any 
vessel, fitted to collect and cjudease the vapor, a 
distilled water is obtained, which is, in most instances, 
somewliat impregnated with odorous or sapid par- 
ticles, the difference being great or small, however, 
in the degree of impregnation, according to the sub- 
stance employed. The process of extracting essential 
and volatile oils by distilling is somewhat difficult, 
aud requires peculiar apparatus ; but we are about to 
describe a very simple meaus of catching up and 
fixing the perfume of flowers by what may be called 
a fat-trap. 

Iq the flower season at Cannes in France, plates of 
tflass are thinly covered over with clarified inodorous 
fat. Upon or under these plates so besmeared the 
flowers are placed, and the power this substance has 
to absorb and retain perfumes is astonishing. Ou 
these sheets of glass the most delicate odors are thus 
fixed, almost as securely as the raost delicate pictures 
are retained on the collodion-prepared plates. In this 
way the jessamine, the violet, the tube-rose, and 
orange perfumes travel across France and arrive in 
England as pure as the day they were given forth from 
the flowers themselves. 



153 HAPPY HINTS TO LADIES. 

The emancipation of the odor from its imprisonment 
is very simple. The fat, cut in. smail tabes, is placed 
in spirits of wine, (alcohol,) and the delicate essence 
immediately deserts the coarse oleaginous matter foi* 
the more spiritual solvent. As some of our fair 
readers, for wbom especially this article is prepared, 
may not uaderscand tlie process of clarifying auy fat, 
we will enable them to do so. Melt one puund of 
perfectly fresh lard on a slow fire; add the eighth 
part of au ounce of powdered alum; scum carefully 
till the fat is quite limpid ; then allow it to become 
cold, and finally repeatedly "work" it like batter, 
With pure cold water. To secure the highest degree 
of fragrance, procure a small zinc box, with lid, in 
which the plates of strong glass, charged thinly with 
fat and bestrewed with the flower, are to be placed 
cue upon another. Roses, as we have said, part with 
their echerial oils more sparingly than most other 
flowers. It is asserted they contain less, which is 
difiiciilt to be believed, since their powerful fragrance 
so much delights the olfactory nerves. 

It may not be quite correct to speak of these odors 
as waste matters, though — 

"Pull many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air;" 
and the flowers are grown for the purpose of their 
production, and for that only; but there are many 
dainty airs, which now go to waste iu our gardens, 
that may be secured with a little trouble. We may add 
that ladies may utilize some of our own garden per- 
fumes very easily and with pecuniary advantage to 
themselves. Pierce in his interesting work on per- 
fumery says that " while cultivators of gardens spend 
thousands for the gratificatiou of the eye, they alto- 
gether neglect the nose. Why should we not grow 
fljvvers for their odors as well as for their colors ?" 

Heliotrope, lily of the valley, honeysuckle, myrtle, 
clove pink, and wallflower perfumes, such as are 
obtained in the shops, are made up of odors canuingly 
contrived from o:her and more common flowers. Yet 
they may be made pure by auy lady with bat small 
outlay, and no great expenditure of labor. 

The amount of money expended by the ladies upon 
the article of pomade is prodigious. The ca-^es <iu the 
counters of the apothecaries are filled with numerous 
descriptions of these unguents, neatly put \\p in fanci- 
ful bottles, with illuminated labels, and graced with 
poetical and high-souudiug naimvs Their cost is but 
iriflng, beiUg mauulacrared e:i;pressly fur sale, and 



HAPPY HINTS TO LADIES. 153 

to secure the largest perc 'iitage of profit. The very 
best sold ia the sliops is made by heatiag tried, or 
purified, lard with rose-water, iu the proporcioa of 
three ouuces of the water to two poauds of the lard, 
till well mixed; then melt over a slow fire, aad after 
it has stood for a little while, that the watery part 
may settle, pour ofi" the lard and stir aad beat it till it 
becomes cold, so as to reduce it to a light yieldiug 
mass; thea mix a small quautity of white wiue, aud 
a few drops of oil of rhodium. The pomade may, for 
lip-salve, be ting-^d of a fiae red color by au addition of 
alkanet root, white wax being used for hardening 
purposes. But mjst of the pomade sold to the fair is 
manufactured from impure fat, the grossness of which 
is concealed by a.<reeable odors .with which they are 
impregnated through ciiemical art. Some of the most 
delicate perfumes are entirely guiltless of ever having 
had their homes in fl 'wers. In stiort, they are con- 
cocted from oils aud ethers, many of them of a most 
disgusting nature, the by-productions aud refuse of 
other matters. Commercial enterprise has availed 
herself of this fact, and sent; to the exhibition in 
London, in the forms of essences, perfumes thus pre- 
pared. Singularly enough, thjse were generally 
derived from substances of intensely repulsive odors. 
Many a fair forehead is thus dampened with the oil 
of " a thousand fiowers," without knowiDg', without 
in the least suspecting, that its essential ingredient is 
derived from the horuel inhabitants of the cow-house. 
The artificial oil of bitter almonds, now so largely 
used in perfuming soap and flavoring confectionary, 
is prepared by the action of nitric acid on the foetic 
oils of gas-tar, and as yet we are only on the threshold 
of the wonders that chemistry reveals. 

If any of our lady readers would know the secret of 
making for themselves a pure artic e of pomade of the 
most delightful perfume, here is the recipe: If there 
is a clean empty glue-pot in the house, or any china 
vessel, fill it with fat clarified in the manner above 
described; set it netr the fire just to licj[uefy the fat, 
and throw in as many heliotropes or honeysuckles or. 
other fiowers as possible, and let them remain for 
twenty-four hours ; strain off the fat and add fresh 
flowers; repeat this process for a week, and the result 
will be an elegant pomade a la heliotrope, if you have 
used this flower. A lady may, in this way, make her 
own perfume, and one that she cannot obtain for love 
or money at the perfumers. 



154 A FORTUNATE KISS. 



CHARACTERISTICS OF CITIES. 

The following are some of the characteristics of 
leading cities: — Loudon posses.ses — relatively to the 
other capitals— the greatest number of engineers, 
letters of carriages on hire, printers, booksellers, and 
cooks; usurers, collectors of curiosities, aud amateurs 
of paintings abound most at Amsterdam ; St. Peters- 
burg takes precedence for coachmen; at Brussels are 
to te fouud the most boys who smoke ; at Naples the 
most porters and guides ; at Madrid, the most idlers ; 
at Berlin, the most beer drinkers; at Florence, the 
most flower girls; at Dublin, the most thieves; at 
Geneva, the most watchmakers ; at Lisbon, the most 
bailiffs; at Rome, the most beggars; and at New 
York, the most engine-men. Paris takes lead in the 
number of hairdressers, men of letters, tailors, mil- 
liners, photographers, pastry-cooks and advocates. 
A calculation has also been made that at London is 
consumed the most meat aud beer; at Stockholm, the 
most water; at Smyrna, the most coffee ; at Madrid, 
the most cigarettes ; and at Paris, the most absinthe. 



A FORTUNATE KISS. 

Thr following pretty little story is narrated hj 
Frederika Bremer, who vouches for its truthfulness : 

In the University of Upsala, in Sweden, lived a 
young student, a noble youth, with great love for 
studies, but without means for pursuing them. He 
was poor without connections. Still he studied, lived 
in great poverty, but keeping a cheerful heart, and 
trying to look at the future which looked so grim to 
liim. His good humor aud excellent qualities made 
Mm beloved by his comrades'. One day he was 
standing at the square with some of them, prattling 
away an hour of leisure, when the attention of the 
young men was arrested by a young and elegant 
lady, who, by the side of an older one, was slowly 
walking over the place. It was the daughter of the 
Governor of Upsala, living in the city, aod the elder 
lady was her governess. She was generally known 
for her goodness and gentleness of character, and 
looked at with admiration by all the students. As 



A FOETUNATE KISS. 155 

the young men stood gazing at her as she passed like 
a gfacefai vision, one of tliem suddenly exclaimed: 

" Well, it woald be worth something to have a kiss 
from such a mouth." 

The poor student, the hero of our story, who looked 
on that pure, angelic face, exclaimed, as if by iuspi- 
I'ation: 

"We'l, I think I could have it." 

"WeL!"c.ied his friends in a chorus, " are you 
crazy ? Do you know her?" 

"A'otatall," he answered ; "but I think she would 
kiss me if 1 asked her." 

" What' in this place — and before all our eyes?" 

" Yes." 

"Freely?" 

"Yes, freely." 

"Well, if she would give you a kiss in that man- 
ner, I will give you a thousand dollars!" exclaimed 
one of the party. 

"And I," "aud I," exclaimed three or four others, 
for it happened that several rich men were in the 
group, and bets ran high on so improbable an event. 
The challeuge was made and received in less time 
than we take to tell it. 

Oar hero (my authority tells not whether he was 
plain or handsome ; I have my peculiar reasons for 
believing that ho was rather plain, bat singularly 
good-louking at the same time) immediately walked 
up to the yoang lady and said: 

" Mine fraulein, my fortune is now in your hands." 

She looked at him with astonishment, bat arrested 
her steps. He proceeded to state his n<ime and con- 
dition, his aspiration, aud related simply what had 
just now happened between him and his comrades. 

The young lady listened attentively, and at his 
ceasing to speak, she said, blushiugly, but with great 
sweetness: 

"If by so little a thing so much good can be 
effected, it would be foolish for me to refuse your re- 
quest;" and publicly, in the open square, she kissed 
him. 

Next day the student was sent for by the Governor. 
He wanted to see the man who dared to seek a kiss 
from his daughter in that way, and whom she con- 
sented to kihs. 

He received liim with a scrutinizing bow, but after 
an hour's conversation was so pleased with him that 
he ordered him to dine at his table during his studies 
at Upsala. 

Our young friend pursued his studies in such a 



15() PRECIOUS STONES. 

mamier that it soon made liira regarded as the most 
proinisiug stadeuc iu the Uuiversicy. 

Three years were now passed since the first kiss, 
"when the yuimg man was aLlowed to give a second 
kiss to Che daughter of the Governor as his wife. 

He became, later, one of die most uoted scholars in 
Sweden, and was much respected for his character. 
His worlis will endure while time lasts, among the 
works of science ; and from this happy union sprang 
a family well kncjwu in Sweden at the preseut time, 
whose wealth and high position in society are re- 
garded as trides in comparison with its goodness and 
love. 



PRECIOUS STONES. 

If contingencies .prevent your going to Corinth, yon 
conceut your craving with a panorama of Corinth. If 
your poverty, but uot your will, compel your remaia- 
ing outside a travelliug menagerie, you inaj^ still have 
the pleasure of admiriug the pictures. Wheo yon can- 
not euter a sweet-smelluig cook-shop, no law prevents 
your looking in at Ciie window and sn. fling the odors 
that exhale from below. And if you can't pick up 
diamonds like Sinbad the Sailor, nor incrast yourself 
with them like Prince Esterhazy, we advise you not 
to take the matter to lieart, but to console yourself by 
Contemplating them at a distance. 

The Cook's Oracle, the Almanac des Gourmands, 
and Brillat-Savarin's Physiologie du Gout, have served 
a series of Barmecide feasts to many a compulsory 
abstainer. Iu like manner, those who cannot measure 
pearls by the pint, nor mark points at whist with un- 
set brilliants, may gratify thi.-ir tastes for gems by the 
instructive and interesting jN'atural History of Pre- 
cious Stones and of the Precious Metals, which Mr. 
King has given to the world. 

Doubtless, jewels are best beheld in situs ; the situs, 
however, being neither the mine nor the matrix, but 
in their proper place, about some fair personage — 
which gives you the chance of admiring two beautiful 
tilings at once. A drawback is that family diamonds, 
like family titles, often fall to tiie lot of the oldest. 
Moreover, etiquette forbids young ladies to wear much 
jewelry, diamonds being especially tabooed. Never- 
theless, wherever it may be, a good diamond necklace 
is a pretty thing to look at. 



i 



PRECIOUS STONES. 157 

Independent of its surpassing beauty, the diamond 
strikes the iraagination by its value. The re-cutcing 
merely of the Kon-i-noor is said to have co-it eight 
thousand pounds. Other grand diamonds have re- 
quired a proportional outlay to bring out their intrinsic 
qualities. Even humble stones make gooJ their claim 
to attention, and will not be passed by unobserved. 
In 1664 Mr. Edward Browne wrote to his father, Sir 
Thomas: " Blarch 2.— I went to Mr. Foxe's chamber 
in Arundell Huuse, where I saw a great many pretty 
pictures and things cast in brasse, some limnings, 
divers precious stones, and one diamond valued at 
eleven hundred pounds." 

That superstition and vulgar error should lay hold 
of so remarkable a natural object as the diamond, 
might be expected as a matter of course. TheEomatis, 
taiight by the Indians, valued it entirely on account 
of its supernatural virtues. They wore the crystals 
in their native form, without any att mpt to polish, 
much less to engrave, them. Such, doubtless, was 
the ring whose diamond, "Adamas noti^simus," had 
flashed in St. Paul's eyes at the momentous audience 
before the Jewish queen and her too-loving brother, in 
their " great pomp," and which afterwards, a souvenir 
of Titus, graced the imperious lady"s finger in Juve- 
nal's days. Pliny says the diamond baffles poison, 
keeps off insanity, and dispels vain fears. The me- 
diaival Italians entitled it " Pietra delta lieconciliazi- 
one," because it maintained concord between husband 
and wife. On this account it was long held the appro- 
priate stone for setting in the espousal ring. 

From Pliny, also, we have the wide-spread notion 
that a diamond, which is the hardest of stones, is yet 
made soft by the blood of a goat — but not except it be 
fn-sh and warm. "But this," observes Sir Thomas 
Browne, "is easier affirmed than proved." Upon this 
conceit arose another — that the blood of a goat was 
sovereign for the stone. And so it came to be ordered 
that the goat should be fed with saxifragous herbs, 
and such as are conceived of power to break the stone. 
Another mistake, formerly current, is that the diamond 
is malleable and bears the hammer. 

There are facts respecting the diamond as strange as 
the fictions. Example — Its constant association with 
gold, noticed long ago. Where gold is, there is the 
diamond. This rule breaks up the belief of the old 
lapidaries that diamonds are found only in the East 
Indies, and there even are confined to Golcouda, Visa- 
poor, Bengal, and Borneo. Diamonds have recently 
been discovered in most of our gold-yielding colonies, 



158 PRECIOUS STONES. 

and probably will turn up ia all. The coincidence or 
companionship of gold with diamonds can hardly be 
accidental, although all the diamond mines whose 
discovery is recorded have been brought to light in 
the pursuit of allivial gold washings — which was 
notably the case with the oldest in the Serra do Frio, 
Brazil, aud the most productive in th-e world. 

South Africa h;is yielded diamonds enough to be an 
earnest of more to come, Australian " diggins " have 
already furnished a few, and will probably yield a 
vast supply when their gravel comes to be tirrued 
over by people having eyes for ocher objects than 
nuggets aud gold flakes. In the Paris Exhibition of 
1856 two diamonds were to be seen, found in the Mac- 
quarie river. In the Exiiibition of Native Productinns 
held at Melbourne, 1865, the feature that excited the 
greatest interest were numerous specimens (small, but 
undeniable) of the diamond from various parts of the 
colony. Finally, in last y<'ar's Paris Exhibition, 
Queensland diamonds were produced. Being still 
rough, uaprotessional jiersons were unable to guess at 
the quality of their water. 

The British Museum, amongst the native diamonds, 
exhibits an octahedral diamond attached to alluvial 
gold: and— strange confirmation of the ancient idea 
as to their affinity! — not only is the octahedron the 
primary crystal of that metal also, but all its secon- 
dary modifications exactly correspond with those of 
the diamond. Modern science has made "^ ' furtlier 
advance towards a solution of this problem beyond 
that propounded as a certainty in the ancient Timaius. 
But without stlving the problem, it is clearly worth 
while for persons likely to travel in gold-bearing re- 
gions to know a roitgh diamond when they see it. 
Otherwise, they may make ducks and drakes with 
pebbles that would pay for their preservation. 

Two points determiue the value of diamonds — their 
weight, which can be estimated in the rough, and their 
lustre or water, which is less easy to judge of. An 
old treatise says, '-The Water called Coelestis is the 
Worth of all, and yet is somewhat difficult to discover 
in a rough Diamond. Tlie only infallible Way is to 
examine it in the Shade of some tufted Tree. In Eu- 
rope, the Lapidaries examine the Goodness of their 
rough Diamonds, their Water, Points, &c., by Day- 
light ; in the Indies they do it by Night." 

The diamond is the only gem which becomes phos- 
phorescent in the dark after long exposure to the sun's 
rays, or, Boyle says, after steeping in hot water. Dr, 
Wall, in the Philosophical Transactions, gives hi^ 



PRECIOUS ST0>rE8. 159 

"infallible metliod" o? distinguishing diamonds from 
other stones. A diamond with an easy slight friction 
in the dark -with any soft animal substance, as the 
finger, woollen cloth, or silk, appears luminous in its 
whole body. J^ay, if you keep rubbing for some 
time, aud then expose it to the eye, it will remain so 
for some time. The excessive hardness of the diamond 
is another extraordinary and superlative quality 
which sets it apart from most other known substances. 

The history of individual diamonds is often strauLre 
and romantic. They have influenced the fortunes of 
families, dynasties and nations. They bring with 
them luck, good or ill. Take the Pitt or Regeut d a- 
roond, which was found at Puteal, forty-five Ipagues 
from the city of Golconda, aad next to Mirgimola's 
(the " Mogul " Diamond) was tlie largest oa record, 
weighing in the rougli four liundred and ten carats. 
Pride, they say, feels no pain ; nor, sometimes, does 
pove-ty. The slave who found this precious pebble 
concealed it, as the story goes, in a gash made to re- 
ceive it in the calf of his leg until he found an oppor- 
tunity of escaping to Madras. There the poor wretch 
fell in with an English skipper, who, by promising to 
find a purchaser for the stone on condition of sheriug 
half the proceeds, lured him to his ship, and there 
disponed of his claims by pitching him overboard. A 
Parsee merchant of the name of '.Jamchuud bought 
this wonderful specimen from the thief aud murderer 
for the ^-"-^Ury sum of one thousand pounds, which 
sum he {.ne murderer) speedily squandered in debau- 
chery, and, when it was finished, hanged himself. 

Governor Pitt, of Fort St. George, Madras, states 
that he purchased it himself of Jamchund for twelve 
thousand five hundred pounds. Pope, to his annoy- 
ance, tried to rob him of the credit of doing so by as- 
signing its acquisition to the agency of an "honest 
factor." To cut it into a perfect brilliant, in London, 
occupied two whole years, at a cost of five thousand 
pounds; which outlay was nearly covered by the value 
(three thousand five hundred pounds) of the fragments 
separated in shaping it. This operation reduc^-d its 
weight to one hundred and thirty-six ca rats and <even- 
eighths, but made it, for perfection of shape as well as 
for purity of water, the first diamond in the world, 
which it still remains. 

The fame of this incomparable jewel soon spread all 
over Europe. UflFenbach, a German traveller who 
visited this country in 1712, states that he made many 
fruitless attempts to get a sight of it. There was no 
obtaining an interview with Governor P^tt, its far 



IfiO PKECIOUS STONES. 

from enviable possessor. So fearful was he of robbery 
(cot without cause) that he never let be known before- 
hand the day of his coming to town, nor slept in the 
same hoiise twice consecutively. During the next five 
years — that is, until after long negotiation, thellegent 
Orleans relieved him of its custody in 1717 — Pitt must 
have felt his too-prec' -.us stone almost as harassing a 
possession as its first fiiukr did. He finally sold it for 
one hundred and thirty-five thousand pounds, a price 
considered much below its value ; for, in the inventory 
of the Regalia, it is entered at twelve millions of 
francs, or four hundred and eighty thousand pounds. 

In September, 1792, the great robbery of the Garde 
Meuble occurred. Together with the other regalia of 
France, the Sancy and tbe Regent diamonds were 
stolen. The former being more convtrrible tlian its 
companion, was never recovered, although a diamond 
exactly answering to its description afterwards turned 
up. This robbery was eflfected ander circumstances 
of great suspicion in respect to the keepers, who were 
supposed to have acted in the interest of the royai 
family. The regalia, including gold plate of almost 
incalculable value, had been sealed up by the ofiicer.s 
of the Commune of Paris, after the massacres of tho 
10th of August. On the 17th of the following montn, 
the seals were found broken, the locks picked by 
means of false keys, and the cabinets empty. The 
thieves were never discovered ; but an anonymous 
letter directed to the Commune gave information where 
to find the Regent, together with a noble agate chalice, 
the latter stripped of its precious gold mounting. 
Roth tliese objects were too well known to be con- 
vertible into money without certain detection. Hence 
this politeness on the part of the thieves ; but every- 
thing el>e had disappeared forever. 

Upon this diamond Bonaparte may be said to have 
founded his fortunes. It was verily the rock on which 
his empire was built. After the famous ISth of Bru- 
maire. by pledging the Regent to the Dutch Govsi-n- 
ment, he procured the funds indispensable for the con.- 
solulation of his power. After he became Emperor, 
lie wore the diamond set in the pommel of his state- 
sword ; doubtless holding f/iai to be a more significant 
article of his imperial paraphernalia than either crown 
or sceptre. 

This remarkable gem exerted a direct influence in 
raising to the helm of government of two hoi-ti!e na- 
tions : in one, the Corsicau adventurer; in the other, 
his renowned adversary, William Pitt, whose acces- 
sion to the premiership would probably never have 



PKECIOUS STOXES. 161 

occurred but for the fortune based upou bis great- 
grand father's lucky bit. 

The Koh-i-noor has hitherto been a fatal jewel. May 
its receac re-cutting have broken the spell ! Its history 
is well authenticated at every step. This stone of 
fate seems never to have been lost sight of from the 
days when Alaul-deen took i*- from the Kajahs of 
Malwa, five centuries and a hair ago, to the day wheu 
it became a crown-jewel of England. Tradition car- 
ries back its existence in the memory of India to the 
year 57 b. g. ; and a still wilder legend would fain re- 
cognize in it a diamond first discovered near IMasuIi- 
patam, in the bed of the Godavery, five thousand 
years ago. 

The Koh-i-noor is reported by Baber, the founder of 
the Mogul Empire, to have come into the Delhi treasury 
from the conquest of Mahva, in 1304:. The Hindoos 
trace the curses and the ultijuate ruin inevitably 
brought upon its succ:?s-ive possessors by the genius 
of this fateful jewel ever since it was first wrested 
from the line of Viki-amaditya. If we glance over 
its history since 1394, its malevolent infiueuce far ex- 
cels that of the necklace for which Eriphyle betrayed 
her husband, or the Eguus Scianus of Gr^ek and Ro- 
man tradition. First falls the vigorous Patau, then 
the mighty Mogul Empii-e, and, with vastly acceler- 
ated ruin, the po\\er of Nadir, of the Dooranee dy- 
nasty, and of the Sikh. Euiijeet Singh, when it was 
in his possession, was so convinced of the truth of 
this belief, that being satisfied with the enjoyment of 
it during his own lifetime, he sought to brenk through 
the ordinance of fate and the consequent de.-tructioa 
of his family by bequeathing the stone to the shrine 
of Juggernaut for the good of his soul and the pres- 
ervation of his dynasty. His successor would not 
give up the baleful treasure, and the last Maharajah 
is now a private gentleman. In ISoO, in the name of 
the East India Company, (since, in its turn, defunct,) 
Lord Dalhousie presented the Koh-i-noor to Queen. 
Victoria. 

Perhaps we should have been better without it; 
such, at least, appears to be Mr. King's opinion. The 
Brahmins will hardly relinquish their faith in the 
malignant powers possessed by this stone, when they 
think of the speedily -following Russian war which 
annihilated the prestige of the British army, and the 
Sepoy mutiny, three years later, which caused Eng- 
land's existence as a nation to hang for months on the 
forbearance of one man. 

The public saw the Koh-i-noor lustreless at the 
11 



163 PKBCIOUS STONES. 

Exhibition of 1851, then weighing one hnndred acd 
eighty-six carats. Its re-cutcin:^^, performed in ]S62, 
though exHcuted with tlie utmost skill and perfection, 
has deprived the stone of all its historical and miner- 
alogicai interest. As a specimen of a gigantic dia- 
mond, whose native weight and form had been inter- 
fered with as little as possible, (for with Hindoo 
lapidaries, the grand object is the preservation of 
weight,) it stood without a rival, save the Orloff, in 
Europe. As it is, in the place of the most ancient gem 
in the history of the world — older even than the Tables 
of the Law and the Breastplate of Aaron, supposing 
them still to exist — we get, according to Mr. King, a 
ibad-shaped — because too shallow — modern brilliant, 
a mere lady's bauble, of but second rate water, for it 
has a grayish tinge, and besides, inferior in weight to 
several, being now reduced to one hundred and two 
carats and a-half. 

The operation of re-cutting was performed in Lon- 
don, under the care of Messrs. Garrards, the Queen's 
jewellers, who erected for that purpose, a small four- 
horse steam engine on their premises. It was con- 
ducted by Voor»anger and another skilful workman, 
sent over by M. Costar, from Amsterdam. In conse- 
quence of the advantage gained by using steam power, 
the actual cutting occupied no more than thirty-eight 
working days — a striking contrast to the two years 
necessary for cutting the Pitt diamond by the old hand 
process. In some parts of the work, as when it was 
necessary to grind out a deep flaw, the wheel made 
three thousand revolutions per minute. 

Mr. King is equally full of pleasant lore touching 
other gems, as well as gold and silver. One emerald 
story has escaped him. It is told, if our memory is 
correct, by Forbes, in his Oriental Memoirs. 

A person, whoever he was, was watching a swarm 
of fireflies in an Indian grove one moonlight night. 
After hovering for a time in the moonbeams, one^par- 
ticular firefly, more brilliant than the rest, alighted 
on the grass, and there remained. The spectator, 
struck by its fixity, and approaching to ascertain the 
cause, found, not an insect, but an emerald, which he 
appropriated, and afterwards wore in a ring. 

When the possession of a valuable is hard to account 
for, one tale may sometimes be as good as another — 
provided there be but a taie. 



THREE AND SEVEN. 163 



THREE AND SEVEN. 

The prominence that these numhers held over all 
others in tlie table has been remarkable in all ages. 
The Bible, Heathen Mythology, the works of ancient 
and modern poets, and the statute books and criminal 
codes of both the Old and New Worlds abound in in- 
stances of their preferment, and, in fact, in olden 
times they were regarded with superstitions awe — 
number three particularly. "The third time's the 
charm." " Thrice the brindle cat hath mrwed, etc." 
Dreams were to be verified in three days. Jonah was 
three days in the whale's belly. Peter denied the 
Saviour three tmes. On the third day our Saviour 
arose from the dead. The world is made of three sub- 
stances — land, sky, and water. Thrm lights were 
given the earth — the Sun, Moon, and Stars. There are 
three persons in the Godhead or Trinity — the Father, 
Son, and Holy Ghost. There were three patriarchs — 
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. For praying three times 
a day, Daniel was thrown into a den of three lions. 
On the third day the Ten Commandments were given. 
There are thr^e artic es of faith — Faith, Hope, and 
Charity. Elijah bowed three times before the dead 
child. The sacred letters on the Cross are three — 1. H. 
S. Thre'i words comprise the Roman motto — In hoe 
signo. There are three graces. The trident of Nep- 
tune had three prongs. Cerberus had three heads. 
The Oracle of Delphi cherished \,\).% tri-pod. Man has 
three %X2l% — birth, life, and death. The day has i/^ree 
periods— morning, noon, and night. There aiMj i]iree 
genders in grammar — male, female, and neuter. Three 
days of gr^ice are given on bank papei-. Otir Govern- 
ment has three heads — the Executive, Legislative, and 
Judiciary. For animal sustenance we have three 
kinds of food — fish, flesh and fowl. Three meals a 
day is the usual custom. The trees and clover leaves 
in threes. Three decades is the average of life, and a 
triumvirate of terrors are constantly before us — the 
laws of our country, God's judgment, and everlasting 
punishment. 

In the Bible and the Catholic worship, the number 
seven is quite as conspicuous. The latter has Sf-nern 
sacraments — Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist, Pen- 
ance, Extreme Unction, Holy Orders, and Matrimony. 
It has also seven penitential psalms, si-ven days' 
prayers, and the seven deadly sins — Pride, Avance, 



164 THItEE AXT) SEVEN. 

Eavy, Impurity, Gluttony, Anger, and Sloth. The 
Bible says the House of God is a house of mauy man- 
sions, and th?it seven times seventy constitute '• many." 
In the Lord's Prayer there are seven petitions, ex- 
pressed in seven times seven words. Solomon was 
seven years building the Temple, and feasted seven 
days when it was finished. On the seventh day God 
rested from His work, and on the seventh day of the 
seventh month the Children of Israel went into their 
tents to fast seven days. In the seventh munth the ark 
lauded, and in seven days after a dove was sent out. 
Every sevtnth year all bondmen were free, and the 
law was read to the people. In the Tabernacle, the 
golden candlesticks had seven branches, and there 
were seven lamps besides. Our Saviour spoke seven 
times f;om the cross, where he huug seven hours, and 
after his resurrection he appeared seven times. iS^aa- 
mau washed seven times in the Jordan. At the 
destruction of Jericho seven priests spent seven days, 
and carried *ere?2. trumpets; ou the seventh d-Aj they 
surrounded the walls seven times, and at the seventh 
tiuic; the walls fell. Job pleaded seven times for 
Sodom. Jacob served seven years for Rachel, mourned 
seven days for Joseph, ani was pursued Skv^'il days by 
Laban. Pharaoh foretold a plenty of sevtn years, 
and a famine of seven more. In his dreain api/eared 
seven fat and sevea Itan beasts, and seven full ears 
and seven blasted ears of corn. Seoen churches, seven 
candlesticks, seven stars, seven trumpets, seven 
plagues, seven thunders, seveiz vials, seven angels, 
and a seven-hendeii monster are spoken of in Revela- 
tions. There are seven stars in the Pleiades, seven 
days in the week, and seven links in the chain. Sev- 
enty years are allowed to man. At sev n years we 
arrive at the age af reason. The seventh son of the 
seventh son was supposed to have healing powers. At 
three times seven we arrive at the age of manhood, 
and every seventh day the moon changes. Every 
seventh year the human system undergoes a change, 
and the seventy years allotted to man have been divided 
into sevens thus ; Seven years in childhood's sport and 
play, seven in school from day to day ; seven at a 
trade or college life, seven to find a place and wi e; 
seven to pleasure's follies given, seven to business hard- 
ly driven ; stven for some wild-goose chase, seven for 
wealth — a bootless race ; seven for hoarding for yotir 
heir, seven in weakness spent, and care. And so on, 
ad libitum. 



VELOCIPEDOLOGY. 165 



v-:locipedology. 

A VERT OLD Stnoi.e-barrelled One.— At the office of 
the United Scates Express Company, on Fourth street, 
Buffalo, there can be seen a one-wheel velocipede. It 
is so curious a piece of mechanism that we will not 
undertake to describe it. The loilowiug explanation 
is posted on the wheel: 

"The one-wheeled velocipede was invented in 
Fraoce, about the year 1620-30, by one Jaques Bohler, 
an ingeaioas mechanic, who was brought from Nor- 
mandy to Pans by Cardinal Eichelieu. His veloci- 
pede created great excitement, as it was impossible 
for any but the most slcilful to ride it. He performed 
many wouderfal feats before the Court of Louis XIII, 
surpassing the swiftest horse in speed, going up an 
iacliued plane at an angle of forty-five degrees, down 
flights of steps at the same angle, and crossing the 
river Seine ou a single rope, with a box behind him. 
But, through the jealousy of the courtiers, he fell into 
disfavor, aud was forbidden to use his velocipede. 
However, a complete description of it on parchment, 
surmounted with the royal arms, has been in posses- 
s.ion of the family ever since. 

"They emigrated with the Huguenots to America, 
and the name was Americanized to Booker. One of 
the descendants in a direct line has in his possession 
the original parchment, and sought every means to 
construct one similar, and night after night his mind 
was so racked aud worried that his wile sat patiently 
by his side placing wet clo,ths on his forehead to keep 
down the fever. At last he accomplished it, and it 
will soon be seen that it will supersede all others, as 
it only requires atrial to convince the most skeptical. " 

ELOPEMENT AND MARRIAGE ON WHEELS. 

Ye maidens fair and comely, 

Come in your bright array; 
Ye damsels plaiu aud homely, 

Attend to me, I pray ; 
• Ye ladies who inherit 

A fondness for ihe steed, 
I'll sing to you the merit 

Of the Velocipede. 

'Tis worthy your attention. 
And matcnicos grace reveals— 



166 VELOCIPEDOLOGT. 

An elegant invention, 

A marvel placed on wheels 1 

A lady or a "feller" 

Can travel on with speed. 

By using the jiropeller 
Of the Velocipede. 

No stable is demanded: 

A closet small will do ; 
And thei'e 'tis safely landed, 

In readiness for you ! 
No galloper nor prancer, 

It cakes small stock of feed ; 
A little oil will answer 

The mild Velocipede. 

And no ungraceful straddle 

Is necessary there ; 
A lady's neat side-saddle 

Invites the blushing fair! 
She mounts the pleasant station, 

And happily indeed, 
Glides to ber destination 

On the Velocipede. 

Her dress is sweetly flowing- 
She closes oft her eyes ; 

While smoothly onward going, 
fehe breathes out gentle sighs— 

For love is her religion, 
A fascinating creed. 

While flying like a pigeon 
On her Velocipede! 

Perchance, with jocund laughter, 

A lover heaves in sight; 
He swiftly follows after 

And fills her with delight. 
The maiden on is rushing, 

Preteuding not to heed, 
But all the time she's blushing 

On her Velocipede. 

Behold their glowing faces! 

Each mounted on a perch ; 
The pi'ettiest of races ; 

At last, with sudden lurch. 
The lover down is tumbled ! 

His nose begins to bleed ! 
• He lies extremely humbled 

'Neath his Velocipede. 



VELOCIPEDOLOGY. 167 

The damsel, so inviting, 

Is greatly terrified. 
And, speedily alighting, 

Is kneeling at his side; 
Caresses rather healing 

Are there exchanged wifh greed, 
Affection rare revealing 

To the Velocipede. 

This fall from off a carriage 

That represents a horse, 
May lead direct to marriage, 

And little ones — of course! 
Some six or more, all coimted, 

Fivom school restrictions freed, 
And every youngster mounted 

On a Velocipede. 

We fancy ardent lovers 

Eloping late at night — 
♦•Stern parient" discovers 

His daughter's sudden flight! 
He swears it ''isn't level," 

And while they take the lead, 
He follows like the devil 

On a Velocipede ! 

But his machine is rusty. 

While theirs are very fast , 
The old 'an, stern and crusty, 

O'ertakes the pair at last! 
But while they Ijriefly tarried, 

A parson did the deed — 
Each one was duly married 

On a Velocipede! 

Hail to this grand invention. 

The pride of modern days! 
It merits joyous mention. 

And graceful meed of praise. 
When finished is earth's story. 

Conveyance we will need — 
Let's glide from life to glory 

On the Velocipede ! 

Going down Hill. — A student of the velocipede in 
Cincinnati, going at full speed, ran against the 
wooden guard around a hatchway, crashing through 
the boarding, and was precipitated to the cellar of the 
building, four stories and a half beneath. His fall 
was somewhat broken by the velocipede, which, it 
seems, istruck the ground first, with him clinging to 



168 VELOCIPEDOLOGT. 

it ; but notwitlistanding this favorable circumstance, 
be received iujuries which it is feared may prove 
fatal. 

Quandaries. — If a fellow p^oes with bis velocipede 
to call upoa a lady whose house lias no front yard and 
no back yard, and there are a lot of boys in front of 
it ready to pounce upon his machine, and the lady is 
smiling througli the window, what is he do with it? 

If a fellow, riding a velocipede, meets a lady on a 
particularly rougb bit of road, where it requires both 
hands to steer, is he positively required to lift his hat, 
and if so, what will he do with his machine? 

If a fellow, riding his velocipede, overtakes a lady 
carrying two bundles and a parcel, what should he do 
with it? 

If a fellow, riding his machine, meets three ladies 
walking abreast, opposite a particularly tall curb- 
stone, what ought he to do with it? 

If a lady meets a fellow riding his machine and 
asks him to go a shopping with her, what can he do 
with it ? 

If the hind wbeel of a fellow's machine flings mud 
just above the saddle, ought he to call on people who 
do not keep a duplex mirror as well as a clothes brush 
in the front hall ? 

If a fellow, riding his velocipede, encounters his ex- 
pected father-in-law, bothering painfully over a bit 
of slippery sidewalk, wbat shall he do with it? 

If people coming suddenly around corners run 
against a fellow's machine, is he bound to stop and 
apologize, or are they ? 

If a fellow is invited to join a funeral procession, 
ought he to ride his machine? 

And is it proper to ride a velocipede to church; and 
if so, what will he do with it whea he gets there? 

It is proposed that a " mixed commission" of ladies 
shall decide these questions. 

As if they are not sufficiently "mixed" already. 

LORD LOVEL AND HIS YELOCIPEDB. 

Lord Level he stood by the g-irden gate 

With his shining velocipede, 
And whispered farewell to his Lady Bell, ■» 

Who wished for his lordship good speed. 

"When will you be back, Lord Lovel?" she said ; 

But he gave her question no heed — 
Pla ed his foot in his stin ups, aud galloped away 

On his famous velocipede. 



VELOCIPEDOLOGY. luU 

Then Lady Bell cried, in frantic alarm, 
" What a monster my lord is, indeed, 

To ride thus away, from his loving young wife, 
On that horrid velocipede!" 

Lord Level returned, broken-hearted and sore, 
Broken-armed, and, alas! broken-kneed ; 

For he struck on a post, nearly gave up the ghost, 
And smashed his velocipede! 

Moral. 
Keraember the fate Lord Lovel has met ; 

Lee this be your warning and creed: 
Stay at home with your wife for the rest of your life, 

And beware of the velocipede! 

Its Utility. — Of the utility of the velocipede as a 
means of rapid conveyance, there seems Co be no 
doubt. It has passed the period of being considered a 
mere toy, aud, although when the novelty wears off 
some may not be as enthusiastic as now, it will still 
coQtmue to be used, and in an increasing degree, for 
street locomotioa. 

The fair sex have the mania, but in their case, like 
cousumption, it is incurable. There are a thousand 
reasons why it is a misfortune to be a womaa, but 
just now, the chief of all them is, she cajiH straddle a 
velocipede! Like shaviug, the machine is an exclu- 
sively niHSculiue appurtenance. 

One difficulty with the velocipede is, that a good 
many young men, owing to the thiuness of their legs, 
cannot impel them. A young man in ^sew York Las 
overcome this difficulty by hiring a colored man to 
push him. By this means he saves his legs, and 
makes pretty good time. 

I tried one the other day. It is a balky kind of 
steed. To get on is not difficult. To stay on is a labor 
of genius. I stayed on about three-flfths of one sec- 
ond. It first got me off by lying down on one side. 
The next time it unhorsed me by lying down on the 
other. Then it ran away, and threw me through a 
picket-fence, carrying off four pickets in the operation. 
Then it ran away again, aud shied me off into the 
gutter. Next, it stuck fast in a crack in the sidewalk, 
pitching me over its head. Then it backed violently 
down a small hill, throwing me over its tail. 

The following are among the results : i wo tired feet, 
two tired arms, triumphant faith, many sore trial , 
many sore mu.scles, plenty of idea-, a hundred unex- 
pected and incalculable twists, two falls, and a deter- 



170 VELOCIPEDOLOGY. 

mination and expectation to master the gig in two 
more days. 

I am so confident of it that I hereby challenge any 
veloclpedist in Chicago [the writer lives in Chicago] 
to a steeple-chase from the court house, through the 
tunnel, around on Madison Street Bridge, and down 
tlie sidewalk to the Post-office. Each contestant to 
ride liis own velocipede, and the winner to be entitled 
to a leather medal, which shall be presented to him 
on some benefit night, on the stage of Aiken's new 
theatre. 

Experience enables me to offer the following rules 
for Che riding and managing of the velocipede: 

A velocipede can't be made fat by feeding it with 
oats or cut straw. 

The natural gait of the velocipede is a roll, and it 
can't be broke to trot or canter. 

Rldiag a velocipede bare-backed and circus-fashion, 
that is, standing on one foot and sticking the other 
straight out, can't be done with saftsty. 

Spurs or riding whips are unnecessary. 

A velocipede about eight hands high, sound in wind 
and limb, and well broken under the saddle, is the 
most desirable. 

Josh Billings says on the subject thusly : 

" It don't take much stuff to bild a filosipede. I am 
bold tew say that a man could make one ov 'em out of 
a single oak plank, and then hev enough stuff left 
over to splinter broken limbs, or make, perhaps, a 
corfln. 

" A filocipede can't stand alone, and that single fact 
iz enuff to condem the thing in mi eye. I don't want 
to have anything to do with any helpless critter that 
can't stand alone, onless, I mite add, it iz a purty 
woman going for to faint. 

"I don't think it will ever get intew gineral use 
among farmers, az it haz no conveniences for a hay 
riggin, nor even a place to strap a trunk ; and az tew 
going to church on it, the family would have tew go 
one at a time, and the rest walk. So of corse the thing 
is killed in that direcshun." 

The "Filosipede."—" Kringle," in the Schenectady 
Star, thus gives his views of the velos.: " The filosi- 
pede at first sight looks very much as tho it wuzzrent 
all thare, and I told Kusick wen I fust .'aw it that ef 
he'd go and get the box and the rest of the wheels I'd 
perceed tew business ; but the durned thing, standin' 
tnar agin a post, looked like a livery rig that had been 



ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK. 171 

druv straddle of a rail feace five miles tew town by 
some adventurous sport." 

In the streets of Boston they drive their velocipedps 
so fast that, as the Sunday Times says, every collision 
results in the total disappearance of both rider and 
machine. No fragmeats are ever found. 

A DOCTOR in Meriden, Conn., visits his patients on a 
velocipede. It is so gentle that he leaves it without 
hitching. 

A VELOCiPEDiST uow proposes to fit up the bicycle 
Avith an umbrella, a splash-board, a locker for lunch, 
and a carpet-bag. 

The first lesson of a student of the velocipede in 
Providence cost him f 125. He went through a show 
window. 

SoMEBODTsays the bicycle velocipede is distinijuished 
from the horse by the ease with which it lies down. 

Velocipede candy is now sold in Eighth street. Ths 
manufacturer finds it necessary to give notice that it 
is not worked by the feet. 

In New Haven a velocipedist ran over a horse and 
killed him. 



AN ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK. 

Twenty years. ago, the West Indian squadron con- 
sisted of sailing frigates and brigs, not of screw- 
vessels, as at present. In those days, ofiicers had to 
depend entirely upon their seamanship ; there was no 
furliag sails and getting steam up if a head wind or 
calm turned up, or to go in and out of difficult har- 
bors ; and if the passage from one port to another did 
occupy a little more time than it does at present, yet 
there was the pleasure of "eating your way to wind- 
ward," and of seeing what your vessel really could do 
against a foul wint. 

At the time I allude to, I was serving as a midship- 
man on board Her Majesty's sloop H , the finest of 

those magnificent "sixteea-gun brigs," built by Sir 
William Symonds. I know no sensation more pleas- 
ant than being officer of the watch on board a brig of 
war, with every stitch of caavas set, the bowlines 
hauled, and as much wind as she can stagger under, 



173 AN ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK. 

while the little beauty knocks off her nine or ten 
knots, close hauled, gliding over the seas like a swan, 
sometimes throwing the spray as high as hermaiaiop, 
or at otliers, dipping her sliarp nose under an opposite 
wave, and sending the spray right att to her quarter- 
deck, while she gives a shake to her stern for all tlie 
world as if she were a living creature, and enjoyed 
the ducking she gave the men forward. 

Jolly were the times we had in the H , visiting 

every hole and C(jrner of the station ; sometimes down 
the Galf of jMexico, at otliers cruisiug among the sand 
keys of the Baliama Channel, or knocking about the 
beautiful Windward islands. We were commanded 
by a very smart officer, who, by dint of constant ex- 
ercise, made us tlie smartest vessel on the station; 
but, as is usually the case, we were very unfortunate 
in losing men overboard. Being a remarkably good 
swimmer, I was fortunate enougu to rescue, on several 
occasions, men who, in performing their duties aloft, 
fell overboard, and it was when so occupied that I 
met with the following adventure: 

We had been cruising for some time for slavers on 
the south coast of Cuba; but yellow fever having 
made its appearance, we left bantiago de Cuba for 
Port Royal, Jamaica. That evening at sunset, after 
the usual hour's exercise in reeling and furling, all 
possible sail was made, with studding sails alow 
and aloft, to a fine, fresh breeze, the brig going 
a fair twelve knots. One of the maintopmen had re- 
mained aloft, finished some job, and was on his way 
down over the cat-harping shrouds, when, by some 
means or other, he lost his hold, and falling, struck 
the spare topsail yard, stowed in the main chains, and 
went overboard. 1 was standing on the stern grat- 
ings, and seeing him fall, instautly sang out, '• Man 
overboard!" and throwing off my jacket, jumped over 
the quarter after him. The impetus of my leap took 
me some distance under water, but on regaining the 
surface I saw him not far from me, just as he was 
going down. Exerting all my power, a few strokes 
took me to the place where he had disappeared, and I 
saw him slowly sinking beneath me. In an instant 1 
was down after him, and, clutching him by the hair, 
I brought him to the surface. 

By this time the brig was nearly two miles distant 
from us, for, although sail had been shortened, and 
the vessel brought to the wind as quickly as morial 
hands could do it, the rate at which she was going at 
the time of the accident of course bore her rapidly 
away from us. I found the poor fellow was quite 



AX ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK. 173 

insensible, and from the fact of Ms right arm hanging 
limp, conjectured that he had broken it in his fall, 
■which proved to be the case. Supporting him with 
one arm, I kept afloat with the other, and looking 
round, saw the life-buoy lloating not far from us ; so, 
taking a good grip of his hair, I swam towards it, and 
having succeeded in reaching it, made my unfortunate 
• shipmate fast to it by one of the beckets, with his 
head well above water. 

By this time he was coming to himself, and I knew 
that if they could see us from the brig, her boats 
would soon be alongside us ; but this did not appear 
to be the case, for the boats seemed pulling in all direc- 
tions but the right one. Suddenly I saw, but a few 
yards from us, an object that in a moment filled me with 
unutterable dread — the back-fin of a moastsr shark. 
Slowly the brute approached, until I could clearly 
distinguish that he was one of the largett of his kind. 
Hb evidently intended to reconnoitre, a'j 1 when only 
about five yards from us, began to swiir* slowly in a 
circle, but gradually nearing, until I could clearly 
distinguish the horrid eyes that m~ke the shark's 
couutenaace what it is — the very embodiment of Sa- 
tanic malignity. Half concealed bet';reen the bony 
brow, the little green eyes gleam wiCL so peculiar an 
expression of hatred, stich a concentri?,tiou of fiendish 
malice, of quiet, calm, settled villaiaj, that no other 
countenance that I have ever seen at all resembles it. 
Knowing that the brute is as cowardly as he is fero- 
cious, I commenced to splash as much as I could with 
my feet. This had the desired effect, and with a lat- 
eral wave of his powerful tail, he shot ofi"; and for the 
moment disappeared. Again I looked round for the 
boats, but still observed no sign that we were seen. 

jS''ight was fast falling — there is no twilight in those 
latitudes — and I could see little or no hope of escaping 
a horrid death from the jaws of the brute who, I full 
well knew, was not far ofl". Suddenly a cry of horror 
from my compauiou, who had now quite regained his 
senses, drew my attention to the rapid approach of 
our dread enemy. This time he seemed determined 
not to be baulked, but came straight for us. Again I 
threw myself on my back, and kicked and splashed 
with all my strength, which had again the effect of 
alarming him, for he went right under irs and again 
disappeared. Uttering a short but fervent ejaculation 
of thankfulness, I again turned my attention to the 
boats, and beheld, with feelings no' pen can express, 
that at last we had been made out, and that one of the 
cutters was fast pushing towards us. But even as she 



174 THE DOORSTEP. 

came our peril increased, for the shark was joined by 
another, and both kept cruising but a lew yards off, 
in a circle round us. My strength was i-apidly leav- 
ing me, and I knew that, did I once cea.^e splashing, 
all would be over with us. My companion was per- 
fectly powerless. Still I continued to kick and splash, 
still the voracious monsters continued their circular 
track, sometimes diving and going under us, to reap- 
pear oa the oclier side ; but the cutter was fast coming 
up, and they, suspecting what was the matter, gave 
way with all their hea.its and souls. 

As she neared us, the bowmeu laid their oars to, and 
began to beat the water with their boat-hooks. This 
was the last I saw. Nature must have given out, for 
when I opened my eyes aga'.u, I was safe in my ham- 
mock on board the brig. A good night's rest restored 
me to myself, but though 1 have seen many a shark 
since, I can never look ou one without feeling my 
flesh, creep, as it were, on iny boaes. 



THE DOORSTEP. 

The conference meeting through at last, 
We boys around the vestry waited 

To see the girls come tripping past, 
Like snow birds willing to be mated. 

Not braver he that leaps the wall, 

By level musket flashes litten, 
Than I, who stepped befora them all. 

Who longed to see me get the " mitten." 

But no! she blushed and took my arm ! 

We let the old folks have the highway. 
And started towai-ds the Maple Farm, 

Along a kind of lovers' by-way. 

I can't remember what we said— 

'Twas nothiQg worth a song or story- 
Yet that rude path by which we sped 
Seemed all transformed and in a glory. 

The snow was crisp beneath our feet. 

The moon was full, the fields were gleaming ; 

By hood and tippet sheltered swee , 
Her face with youth and health was beaming. 



TROUBLES FROM TRIFLES. 175 

The little hand outside her maff— 

! sculptoi', if you could but mould it ! — 

So lightly touched my jacket catf, 
To keep it warm I had to hold it. 

To have her with me there alone 

'Twas love and fear and triumph blended ; 

At last we reached the foot- worn stoue, 
Where that delicious journey ended. 

She shook her ringlets from her hood, 
- And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled: 
But yet I knew she nnderstood • 

With what a daring wish I trembled 

A cloud passed kindly overhead— 

The moon was slyly peeping through it, 

Tet hid its face, as if it said, 
" Come, now or never ! do it ! do it ! 

My lips till then had only known 

Tlie kiss of mother and of sister ; 
But somehow, full upon her own 

Sweet, rosy, darling mouth — I kissed her J 

Pei-haps 't was boyish love — yet still, 

listless woman! weary lover! 
To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill, 

I'd give— but who can live youth over? 



TROUBLES FROM TRIFLES. 

SoMR of the worst ti-oubles of life arise from mis- 
understandings and disagreements aboat the merest 
trifles. The fretfulness of human life destroys quite 
as much liappiness as war. Peevishness roitghens 
the daily experience of thousands of families, and 
scatters its little stings into the whole material of life. 
In each single case the wound inflicted may appear 
of little consequence, but the aggregate of them all 
causes deeper anguish than all those afflictions that 
come from sources over which we have no control. 
Forbearanc is a virtue seldom appreciated. It may 
be simply repressing impatience, curbiug an angry 
tone, or maintaining silence when provoked ; an ap- 
parently trifling work to do for once, yet one which 
would promote every day and hour the good of all 
with whom we come in contact. The trifling circum- 
stances of little concerns, everywhere repeated and 



17if) BLACK DIAMONDS. 

multiplied, make up the great bulk of life's experieuce. 
If we could trace back the history of the majority of 
alieaated friendships, divided families, and unhappy 
homes that have saddened the earth, we should find 
their origia ina.inly in triJSes, sometimes so insignifi- 
cant in tlieir commencement as to be almost imper- 
ceptible, save to the microscopic eyes of envy and 
jealousy. There are occasions involving principles 
of crath and justice, in which forbearance ceases to be 
a virtUH. In nearly every such case, however, it is 
found that self-respect must first be sacrificed before 
we have i^ccasion to displease others by opposition, 
while iu most cases forebearance is neglected solely 
from selfish motives of interest or of pride. A person 
of fine abilities and magnanimous virtues may even 
fail to ujeet the appreciation, or produce the good of 
whicliihe is capable, by a captious, fretful temper. 

Though forbearance is an unambitious and unob- 
trusiivje virtue, yet its influence is so great in the 
aggi^egate, that it may well demand industrious 
cailure. It is not obtained by occasional strong efforts 
andt'severe straggles, but by improving every oppor- 
tuuity to quench strife and secure harmony, till this 
cou^-se^of conduct grows into a habit, and kindness 
au<f tender uess become natural. By persons of hasty 
temper, it can only be acquired gradually, and by 
continual acts of self-restraint, while if its refreshing 
fruit be not carefully cultivated, the contrasting weeds 
of irritability and censoriousness will surely take 
possession of the soil. Differing as all do in consti- 
tution, circumstances and interests, they must often 
differ iu opinions, in beliefs, and in desires, and only 
mutual concessions and a full recognition of the rights 
of others can bridge over the caasms between men. 
If people would remember how oiten all need for- 
bearance, and that the only allowable supplication 
must be to be forgiven as we forgive, there would 
pt3)'haps be less disposition to be severe and resentful 
towards those who offend in the small concerns of life. 

BLACK DIAMONDS. 

Black diamonds are more curious than the change- 
ful chameleon, for they are mineral chameleons. The 
scientific say they are white diamonds in a state of 
interrupted formation, the crystallization of which has 
been stopped by some unknown cause. But whether 
this is so or not, they are very dazzling when polished, 



i 



VALLEY OF JEHOSAPHAT. 177 

their rays being white, and reflecting every color that 
strikes them. A set of Avhite and blaclc diamonds 
mixed forms the most brilliant parure, every black 
one multiplying the brightness of its neighbor, and 
vice vtrsa. A peciiliaritj'' of the black diamond is that 
it cannot be imitated ; it is inviolable, and — almost 
unattainable. After this we fear our readers will 
know no rest until they possess an unique gem, but 
they may be assured that, however costly their orna- 
ments, they would hear of others still costlier some- 
where. Thus, in the Imperial Treasury of Constan- 
tinople there is a dagger lor some favored sultana or 
huuri studded with black diamonds. A dagger! It 
is a sinister idea, but white hands care not oft what 
they touch if it glitters. Then there is an emerald 
which weighs three hundred carats, and a brooch for 
silken tissue with two hundred and eighty briglit 
gems. The chemisette, destined to the finest throat, 
has in the centre of a star of pearls a diamond of fifty 
carats, and there is a white snowy pearl as large as a 
pigeon's egg suspended from a chain of rubies as pink 
and as rosy as the bride when a Pacha leads her to 
the harem. 



VALLEY OF JEHOSAPHAT, 

The efforts the Jews have made, and sufferings, 
losses, and humiliations they have borne for the pur- 
pose of obtaining sepulture in the Valley of Jeliosa- 
phat, form a singular feature in human history. 
No other nation has ever thus struggled, not to 
live in their own land, but to be suffered to lay 
their dust therein. Many descriptions have been 
made of this marvellous place; but none of them 
ever afforded a notion of its actual appearance. 
Waaidering alone past the fountain of Siloam and 
by the arid bed of Kedron, it suddenly opened 
to me a perfect mountain of graves — a hillside paved 
with sepulchral slabs. Each stone is small, so small 
as to lead to the conclusion that the bodies must be 
buried perpendicularly. At all events, if the multi- 
tude there interred were simultaneously to arise they 
would form a crowd as dense and compact as it would 
be enormous. Short Hebrew inscriptions, some evi- 
dently of great age — are on all the stones ; and these 
are laid together with intervals of only a few inches, 
as in our oldest churches. The slabs are almost on 
the level of the ground, and of equal height, so that 
it is literally oue large pavement of death— an ap- 
palling, almost an overwhelming sight. 
12 



178 HASHEESH. 



HASHEESH. 

The hasheesh of the Arabians consists of tops and 
tender parts of the hemp plant, collected immediately 
afcer inflorescence. Gunjah and Bang are Indian pre- 
parations. The former consists of the stems, leaf, 
stalks and leaves, dried and pressed together in masses 
about the size of the fiuger; while the hang is com- 
posed of the larger leaves and capsules of the plant. 
Ohurrus — another preparation from hemp — is an in- 
toxicating, resinous substance, which exudes from 
the branches, leaves and flowers. This is collected by 
its adhering to the leathern garments of men who 
run in hot weather throngu hemp fields, brushing off 
the secretions by the violence of tiiOir movements. 
The purest of this material, called waxen churrus, is 
carefully collected by hand. In medicine an alcoholic 
extract and a tincture are employed. Indian hemp 
calms pain and relieves spasms, without cauj-ing 
either constipation or loss of appetite. In large doses 
it causes a peculiar kind of intoxication, which in 
some cases is att;-nded with soothing and agreeable 
reverie; in others, with a disposition to exhilaration, 
laughter, singing, and dancing. Occasionally it ren- 
ders its devotee quarrelsome and disposed to violence. 
A condition rt-sembling catalepsy has likewise been 
produced. After the first efi'ects pass ofi", there is a 
tendency to sleep. Its continued employment seems 
to impair the intellect and to produce insanity. The 
Hindoos and Arabians are much more susceptible to 
its influence than IS^orthern Europeans or Americans. 
In cold climates the plant possesses less of a narcotic 
quality. It is recommended in cases of neuralgia, 
gout, rheumatism, convulsions, mental depression, etc. 

The following experiences of a noted hasheesh eater 
were related recently. " I saw," said this gentleman, 
"everything in an extravagant light attei'' taking 
twenty-five grains of the drng. It was rapid in its 
action, having an effect about an hour after swallow- 
ing it. I was walking with a friend, and the first in- 
timation of its action was a feeling as if I had received 
a severe shock ; and everything commenced to increase 
in size, so much so, that, after crossing the street, I 
remarked to my friend: ■ It has just taken us a thou- 
sand years to cross the street.' Words cannot describe, 
nor imagination eonceiv^e, the splendor of the imagery 
and the grandeur of the surroundings. Cottages 



FEMALE POISONERS. 179 

seemed baronial castles, and the gullies wide moats. 
I travelled all over Europe in imagination, and de- 
scribed in glowing colors and warm language the 
scenes I in fancy saw. This effect lasted until I 
reached my room, which was dark; and a transforma- 
tion came over this splendid vision. Horrors of every 
kind assailed me. I imagined I was breathing all the 
air there was in the world, and but one square inch 
was left. My friend lit the gas, and discovered me in 
a profuse perspiration, as if I had undergone a severe 
mental struggle. The light, however, displaced the 
horrible, which gave place to the ridiculous; and 
soon after I fell asleep, to be troubled with strange 
and fanciul dreams. The effect lasted about eight 
hours. This Avas only one of seve. al other equally 
absurd phautasmagoria." 

It is generally supposed that the " Arabian Nights," 
and othei's of these strange weird Eastern tales, were 
written under the iuflu^ace of hasheesh, which lends 
such a marvellous brilliancy to the imagination of the 
most saturnine and matter-of-fact individuals. 



FEMALE POISONERS. 

It is difficult for us at the present time to realize the 
constant fear of poisoning and witchcraft which pre- 
vailed in the minds of all persons in the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries. Chemistry was studied in a 
great measure because of the knowledge of poisons 
which it gave. Sir Walter Raleigh studied chemistry, 
and prescribed for Queen Anne, consort of James I. 
The Medici and the Borgia studied the properties of 
poisons, not uufrequently with evil effect. Charles II. 
had a laboratory in which he spent hours, and so had 
the Regent Orleans, who seems to have studied chem- 
istry chiefly because of the infamous reputation 
which a known devotion to the subject would give 
him. The art of poisoning, as practised in the cen- 
turies referred to, was chiefly as a political engine. 

In the time of the Roman emperors, there were 
those who prepared philtres, which were generally 
poisonous, prophesied the deaths of persons, and 
worked so that th4r prophecies should be verified. 
Juvenal in his Satires refers to the frequency with 
which poisons were administered. Claudius was 
poisoned by Locusta at the instance of Agrippa, who 
afterwards became the priestess of Claudius' shrine, 
when he received his apotheosis. She was herself put 



180 FEMALE POISONERS. 

to death by Nero. Locusta was also employed to 
poison Britaiiaicus. The poisou was oftea pat iu 
wine ; hut in this cuse it was put into the water 
which was given to him to mix with the wiue. Lo- 
custa was executed in the time of Galba. 

It is probable that the kuowledge of the ancient 
poisons did not descend to the later professors of poi- 
soning ; but that the poisons were re-inveuted. 

It i.s reported that there were poisou-rings made, 
the wearing of which resulted in instant death. 
Rings contaiuing poisons were most frequently worn 
by persons who intended to commit suicide. The 
poison boxes had lids which were opened when the 
wearer of the ring desired to talie the poison. Hanni- 
bal took poison which liad been carried in such a ring 
in 1S2 B. C. When the ring was put on it fitted easily, 
but when it was pulled in trying to take it off, a 
'barbed hook came out, pressed into the tiesh, and so 
the poison passed into the bloo^. 

As prussic acid in any concentrated form was not 
kuowu until a comparatively recent time, aconite was 
the only thing the early poisoners were acquainted 
with which was capable of producing sudden death. 
The possession of aconite was punishable by death. 
Yery recently three persons were killed in Scotland 
by eating its root iu mistake for horseradish. The 
plant ought never to be cultivated iu gardens. One- 
tenth of a grain of tliis poison is fatal. " Powder of 
Succession," so called because employed by heirs who 
were in haste to succeed to estates, was said to consist 
of sugar of lead mixed with corrosive sublimate. 

The fear inspired by the dread of being poisoned 
"was very great. When Charles XI. of Sweden en- 
treated his physician to tell him what slow and in- 
scrutable disease was consuming him, he received for 
an answer, "'Your majesty has been loaded with too 
many maledictions." The truth was, that he was 
being gradually poisoned. 

A curious circumstance, and one that carries its owu 
moral on the face of it, is, that poisoners, as a rule, 
are very unlucky, and that they have mostly come to 
very bad €nds. 

fifty years before the Aqua Tofana was invented, 
there occurred the affair of Sir Thomas Overbury. la 
160S, Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, got over some family 
feuds by marriages which he arranged between Lord 
Cranbourne and Lady Catherine Howard, daughter of 
the Earl of Suffolk, and the young Earl of Essex and 
Lady Frances Howard, In the la;ter case the bride- 
groom was only fourteen and the bride thirteen years 



FEMALE POISONERS. 181 

of age; so he went abroad for a few years. In the 
iiieautime the young countess grew up very lovely ; 
but would not live with her husbaud when he re- 
turned — the truth being that she had fallen in love 
with Carr, Viscount Rochester, the favorite of James 
I. The Earl of Essex took small-pox, and it was said 
he was poisoned. The Countess consulted Mrs. Tur- 
ner, a dedler in poisons, but well known as the inven- 
tor of yellow starch for ruffs. The destruction in 
effigy, the roastin;j a waxen image of the Earl before 
tlie tire, was-tried ; but without success. The Earl of 
Sutfolk appealed to his dau-rhter to cease her attempts 
on the life of her husband, but she would not listen to 
him. Rochester consulted Sir Thomas Overbury as to 
procuring the death of Essex; but Overbury turned 
from the proposal with horror, and the Countess of 
Essex determined to poison him. The King was re- 
quested to send Overbury on a mission to France or 
Russia. Rochester went to Overbury, and entreated 
him to refuse, saying that it was only a plot of his 
enemies to put him out of the King's favor. 1 hen 
Rochester said to the King that Overbury contemptu- 
ously refused the mission, and so there was a pre.ext 
afforded for putting him in the tower. The servants, 
and Wade, the governor of the tower, were got rid of, 
and Elwes was put in his place. Elwes was told that 
the King was in the plot, and a servant named Wes- 
ton, had a large sum of money given to him to admin- 
ister the poison. Weston was the only one allowed 
to wait on Overbury. Corrosive sublimate was mixed 
with everything, even with the salt. Overbury be- 
came conscious of tlie design to poison him, and wrote 
a piteous letter to R.jchester, entreating for mercy ; 
but at last, a white powder administered to him sud- 
denly finished the whole affair. After a time, Villiers 
superseded Carr, now Earl of Somerset, in the king's 
affections, and the Earl and Countess of Somerset were 
imprisoned from ldl6 to 1624, on the charge of the 
poisoning. Though tbey were afterwards released, 
the end of the countess was wretched enough, almost 
to atone for the crime of which she had been guilty. 
Bacon says that tiie poisons used by the countess 
were arsenic, corrosive sublim.af«, and a substance 
called " rossiter." 

In the time of Pope Alexander VII. it was observed 
that a great many married men died there suddenly; 
and on inquiry being instituted, it was found that 
there existed a society of married women who put 
their husbands to death when they were tii-ed of them, 
fepira, Graciosa, and Tofana were women who made 



182 FEMALE POISONERS. 

aud sold the poisons. The poison now known as 
Aqua Tofana was sent about under the title of Manua 
of St. Nicholas of Bari. There was a kiud of rock-oil 
which was supposed to do good to rheumatism, and 
which was allowed to be sent about under the patron- 
m^e of the saint, and under the same title as the oil, 
Tofana sent her poisons. When she was at last found 
out, she took refuge in various conveuts, from which 
she was, however, taken. The Archbishop was furi- 
ous at the invasion of the sanctuary ; but Tofana was 
strangled, after having confessed to the murder of six 
hundred persons, and her body was tlirown back over 
the wall of the convent from which she had been 
brought to execution. 

About the year 1670 occurred the affair of the Mar- 
quise de Briuvilliers; born in Paris, Marie Marguer- 
ite d'Aubry. Her husband was a soidier, and had a 
handsome comrade, St. Croix, whose attentions dis- 
pleased Mme. de Briuvilliers so that she complained 
to her husband. He would not heed, but eucouraged 
St. Croix's visits as before. At last the Marquise de 
Briuvilliers died, but there is no suspicion of his 
having been poisoned. St. Croix and Mme. de Briu- 
villiers were thrown into the Bastile, where they 
studied poisoning under another prisoner. As soon as 
she came out Madame donned the dress of a nurse, 
aud entered the Hotel Dieu, where she pursued her 
experiments and poisoned many patients. She also 
poisoned her fatiier and her brother, but her sister es- 
caped. One day St. Croix was found dead in his 
laboratory ; aud among his effects was a box addressed 
to the Marquise de Briuvilliers, along with which 
were directions that, if she were dead when he died, 
the box was to bo destroyed unopened. This box St. 
Croix's servant, La Chaussee, endeavored to take 
away ; but he was prevented, the box was opened and 
found to be full of poisons with descriptions of their 
action. This was in 1673. The servant was broken 
on the wheel. La Briuvilliers escaped to Liege, and 
took sanctuary in a convent. She was induced to 
leave this by an agent of police, v.-ho had dressed him- 
self like an abbe, and obtained entrance to the con- 
vent. He proposed an excursion to some place near ; 
aud, as soon as she was beyond the shelter of the 
convent, he arrested her. She confessed, and was put 
to death on the scaffold in 1676. To the last hopes of 
escape were held out to her, if she did not betray many 
of the high personages at court who had at one time 
or other got poison from her to give to others. The 
P'jisons found in the box were chielJy corrosive sub- 



FEMALE POISONERS. 183 

limate, opium, regulus of antimony, and blue 
vitriol. 

Modern instances of poisoners have not been unfre- 
quent. Pritchard, La Pommeraye, the nurse in 
Switzerland, the women who poisoned their husbands 
at Marseilles, all show that even now people who de- 
sire to poison A7ill do so without being deterred by- 
fear of the tests which the chemists can apply. 

But tests for poison are becoming more subtle and 
more sure ; and it is certain that the art of the poi- 
soner is less likely to succeed than, that of the chemist 
is likely to find him or her out. 



SLEIGHING WITH A GIRL. 

Of all the joys vouchsafed to man in life's tem- 
pestuous whirl, there's naught approaches heaven so 
near as sleighing with a girl — a rosy, laughing, 
buxom girl ; a frank, good-natured, honest girl ; a 
feeling, flirting, dashing, doatiug, smiling, smacking, 
jolly, joking, jaunty, jovial, poser-poking, dear IHtle 
dack of a girl. Pile up your wealth a mountain high, 
you sneering, scoffing churl! I'll laugh as I go by 
with my jingling bells and girl — the brighiest, dearest, 
sweetest girl ; the trimmest, gayest, neatest girl ; the 
funniest, flashiest, frankest, fairest, roundest, ripest, 
roguishest, rarest, spunkiest, spiciest, squirmiest, 
squai-est, best of girls, with drooping lashes — half- 
coQcealing, love-provoking, amorous lashes— just the 
girl for a chap like me to court, and love, and marry, 
you see— with rosy cheeks, and clustering curls, the 
bweetest and the best of girls. 



HOW JIMMY GOT THE IVITTEN. 

There is a blithesome maiden that lives next door 
to me ; her eyes are black as midnight, and handsome 
as can be. Her cheeks are full of dimples, and red as 
any rose, and then this love of mine, too, has got a 
Eoman nose 1 I asked her if she'd have me, (that was 
the other night,) and this was her reply, friends: 
" Why, Jimmy, you are 'tight!' " Says 1, " I know 
I have, love, aboard a little wine; but that is not the 
question — will you, or not, be mine?" And then she 
put berface, my friends, as near mine as she could, 
and with the sweetest smile, said simply that she 



184 A WORD FOR WIVES. 

would — escort me to the door, if I was ready to depart. 
Aud thus it was the giri nexc door declined my tiaad 
and heart. 



A CAT CHARMED BY A SNAKE. 

The Pensacola Observer tells the following story: 
"A young lady living in the city had a valued cat, 
and a day or two since, losing sight of it for an un- 
usual length of time, was induced to make search for 
the missiug pet. In a short time, t) her surprise, she 
discovered the truant under the shade of a shrub, 
with a snake coiled around its body. The reptile 
stretching forth its pliant neck, and curving it to the 
position of a t'i.s-a-'yi.S', held the charmed feline spell- 
bound. The neighbors— several in number— were 
summoned to behold the scene. Finally, a lad seized 
the snake by the tail, and placing a forked stick on 
its head, uncoiled his folds from around the cat. This 
done, both cat and snake lay with their gaze fastened 
upon each other, nor was the charm broken until the 
serpent died. As several ladies in the city were 
witnesses of the above, its reality will not be ques- 
tioned." 



A WORD FOR WIVES. 

Little Wives! if ever a half-suppressed sigh finds 
place with you, or a half-loving word escapes you to 
the husband whom you love, let your heart ^o back 
to some tender word in those first love days ; remem- 
ber how you loved him then, how tenderly he wooed 
you, how timidly you responded ; and if you can feel 
that you have not grown unworthy, trust him for the 
same fond love now. If you do feel that through 
many cares and trials of life you have become less 
lovable and attractive than you were, turn— by all 
that you love on earth, or hope for in heaven — turn 
back, and be the pattern of loveliness that won him ; 
be the dear one your attractions made you then. Be 
the gentle, loving, winning maiden still ; and doubt 
not, the lover you adrn re I will live forever in your 
husband. Nestle by h s side, cling to his love, and let 
his confidence in you never fail ; and my word for it, 
the husband will be dearer than the lover ever was. 
Above all things, do not forget the love he gave yoa 



N^ 



DIVINATION BY CARDS. 185 

first. Do not seek to "emancipate" yourself; do not 
seeu to unsex yourself, and become a Lucy Stoue, or a 
Rev. Miss Brown ; but love the higher honor ordained 
by our Saviour of old— that of a loving wife. A happy 
wife, a blessed mother, can have no liigher station, 
needs no greater honor. 



DtVINATION BY CARDS. 

The following method of telling fortunes with cards 
will be found very amusing and interestiug. Take a 
pack of cards and select for those to be used, the Ace, 
King, Queen, .fack, ten, nine, eight, and seven, of each 
suit, making i hirty-two cards. A lady will be repre- 
sented by the Qaeen, and a gentleman by the Jack of 
the same suit as the drawn card. After having 
shuffled the puck, desire the person whose fortune is 
to be determined, to cut the pack and draw a card; 
now let the presiding genius commence with this card, 
and lay them all out, fa-'es uppermost, in four rows. 
The representative card can now be seen, asid com- 
mencing with that as one, count all the cards from 
left to right, beginning with the top row, aud the 
cards ending in the following numbers will denote 
what is to come to pa<s, and must be applied in the 
most suitable manner by the presiding genius: 5—8 
—11—14—17—20—23—26—29—32. 



Sigrilficatlon of the Cards. 

SPADES 

Ace — Disagreeable news, Death. 
King— Success by per»evei-aace. 
QtJEEN — Unfortunate in Love of Speculation. 
Jack — Disappoimment, Loss. 

Ten— Non-fulfilment of a wish, unforeseen accidents. 
Nine — Quarrels, law suits, etc. 
Ekiht — Sorrow and vexation. 

SiiVEN — A change in family, condition, relations, or 
ideas. 

CLUBS, 
AcE — A pre^PTit — honor and distinction. 
KiNG — Separatioa — success in dishonest enterprises. 
QcTKEN — Quarrel. 



186 DIVI^^ATION BY CAKDS. 

Jack— Success in honest enterprises — safety. 

Ten— Plenty and thrift. 

ISINE — Proposals of marriage. 

Eight — Prosperity— industry and energy 

Seven — Inheritance — prosperity. 

DIAMONDS. 

Ace — News. 

King— Extravagance — show and display. 

Que en — Uuch astity. 

Jack— Dishonesty'in men — misfortune in women 

Ten — Return of a friend. 

Nine -Riches and unhappiness. 

Eight— Company, happiness, contentment. 

Seven — Travels, campaign. 

HEARTS. 
Ace — A peaceful, domestic life. 
King — Good luck in speculating. 
QjEEN — Good luck, elevation in society. 
Jack — Danger of loss. 
Ten — Frivolity in love matters. 
Nine— A wedding. 
Ekjht — A surprise. 
Seven— Falling in love — love. 

Therefore, as example, suppose a ynnng man Las 
drawn a Club, he will be represeDtea by the Jack of 
Clubs, which being taken as one, we will presume the 
ten terminating cards to be the seven of Clubs, eight 
of Hearts, eight of Diarnoods, King of Diamonds, ten 
of Diamonds", eight of Clubs, seven ol Hearts, Jack of 
Clubs, nine of Clubs, and nine of Hearts. Young 
man, you will soon come in possession of property, 
(seven of Clubs,) by which you will be much surprised, 
(eight of Hearts.) You will attend a company, (eight 
of Diamonds,) where you will make considerable 
show and display, (king of Diamonds.) You will 
there meet with a long-lost friend, (ten of Diamonds,) 
who, being in prosperous circiumstauces, (eight of 
Clubs,) will gain your sincere love, (seven of Hearts,) 
aud being prompted by honest intentions, (Jack of 
Clubs,) you make a proposal of marriage, (nine of 
Clubs,) which will result in a union lor life, (nine of 
ilearis.) 



ST. ROCH. 187 

ST. ROCH. 

A MATRIMONIAL AGENCT. 

"This is a queer advertisement, is it not, especially 
to be in such a paper as the ' Debars ; ' da you believe 
it, or is it some poiiticcd association hidden under this 
masquerade disguise?" 

" It is perfectly and exadly what it pretends to he. 
Why, Pascal, don't you remember three years ago that 
this veryM.de St. Roch, who advertises, was brought 
up before the courts by some discontented ciiedt, and 
that the court allowed that his trade was an honest 
one, violating none of the laws?" 

"Still," continued Pascal, "that does not prove to 
me that St. Eoch has ever made any marriages ; it 
only proves to me that he has an agency, and that 
he finds dupes who believe in him and who pay him 
fees." 

"Pretty large fees they must be to pay continually 
for the whole of the fourth page of ' The Debats.' " 

"Paris has two millions of population, besides 
strangers ; depend upon it, M. de St. iloch never lacks 
customers." 

"That, however, does not prove to me that he ever 
effects a marriage," persisted Pascal; "I have such 
an intense desire to know that I really think I shall 
write to him." 

" Write, my dear fellow ? the greatest fun would be 
to go : writing is of no use." 

" Well, though this seems a piece of schoolboy fun, 
I will, like an .ther Decius, devote myself for my 
country's good," said Pascal, laughing, "and jump 
not into tlie gulf of matrimony, but into the arms of 
the matrimonial agent." 

Pascal Devoine, who had taken this resolve, was 
one of the fortunate individuals, who had made aa 
immense fortune before he had attained his thirtieth 
year, by speculations growing out of the events of 
the day. 

One of the most distinguished scholars of the Ecole 
Polytechnique, he had, on his appointment of lieuten- 
ant of the corps of engineers, immediately resigned, 
and so found himself at twenty-five, without any 'po- 
sition or profession. True, he was the son of a rich 
provincial attorney, but M. Devoine, senior, had 
founded great hopes on his son, had been very proud 



188 ST. ROCH. 

of the distinctions he had earned, and was propor- 
tionately enraged and disappointed at the strange 
step his son had taken. It was unaccountable, even 
to Pascal's intimate friends; and the world in general 
— meaning the small circle in which Pascal Devoine 
moved — was disposed to look with blarne and distrust 
on a young man, however well off, who had no pro- 
fession, and apparently no object in life except to 
spend money and amuse himself. 

Pascal, however, bore all reproaches, taunts and 
surmises with wonderful coolness and indifference, 
refusing and evading all explanation, even to his 
mother, who wrote most touching letters on the sub- 
ject. Patiently, amidst all sarcasm and surmises, he 
lived in Paris, not extravagantly, but in the quietest 
and most retired manner possible, until he had at- 
tained his twemy-sixth birthday. Then, the very 
next day he took the chemin du Nord and proceeded 
to the town of Lannion, in which his father resided 

Here, good-humored and affectionate, he endured 
all the reproaclies of his father and withstood the 
pleadings of his mother. 

"What could be your motive for throwing away a 
career thousands would give the world to see opening 
before them?" 

'* My motive is simply, father, dear, to make a for- 
tune in five years." 

"In five years? by gambling, I suppose." 
" Not even by speculating in the Bourse." 
" How do you mean to begin?" 
"With a capital of fifty thousand francs, left to me, 
I believe, by my mother's sister, when I should attain 
the age of twenty -six." 

"Yes, sir, you have such a sum; it is at your dis- 
posal." 

" That is what brought me here, to claim it " 
"You need not have troubled yourself, M. Pascal 
Devoine. The accounts of my guardianship are all 
right. You can have that sum as soon as you like." 
'■The sooner the better," said Pascal. 
The old attorney, piqued at his son's coolness, made 
short work of all formalities, and in a few days the 
fifty thousand francs were transferred to Pascal De- 
voine. 

" Now for Paris," said Pascal. " Mother," said he, 
" I have a secret ; it is honorable in all respects. If 
you choose, to you I will reveal it; but I had rather 
you would trust me." 

"Pascal,'' said his mother, like a true mother, "I 
believe you, and have faith in you. If you are wrong, 



ST. EOCH. 189 

I can always console you. Meantime, let it be as you 
desire ; I will wait and trust." 

So Pascal embraced his mother, forced his father to 
shake bauds with him and came back to Paris. His 
secret was simply an association with one of those 
laud speculations grown out of the improvements 
effected by the Emperor in Paris. The speculation 
consisted in buying as much as they had capital to 
purchase of the wretched streets and alleys to which 
the trowel and the hammer were to bring civilization 
and morality. Thus were the contracts made with 
the governjnent:— A streei, as it stood, has to be de- 
molished. It is divided into lots and sold to the spe- 
culator, who undertakes to pull down the old houses 
and to rebuild new ones according to the plans of the 
government, so as to give uniformity to the street ; 
the property (of course doubling, trebling in value) 
belonging to the purchaser. Besides this proiit, all 
the old material more than covered the price of the 
sale. Doors, windows, slates, bricks, stones, all had 
a value ; and iu a city where wood is the principal 
fuel, and at a very higti price, the lumber found quick 
and advantageous sales. This was Pascal Devome's 
speculation. He found a partner who undertook all 
the demolition, whilst he, with his eugmerriug and 
architectural advantages, maue the plans of th« new 
houses to be built. Immense iortuues have been made 
in Paris by this means during the last five years. 
Pascal and his associate, both keen, talented and in- 
dustrious, were not likely to prove exceptions to the 
rule. Before he had attained his thirtieth year, Pas- 
cal Devoine found himself at the head of a capital of 
three hundred thousand f ancs. 

Daring the years he had been realizing this fortune, 
he had lived in an apartment furnished wath great 
taste and luxury, and had deaied himself no comlort, 
but had been guilty ol no extravagance. He had kept 
out of society, restricted himself to the companionship 
of a few of his intimate friends. He had, too, escaped 
all those perilous liaisons which beset young and rich 
single men in Paris ; but this was, perhaps, not so 
much owiug to his own prudence as to the care taken 
of him by his intimate friend and schoolmate, Leon:ird 
Leotaud, a physician striving to establish a reputation 
in Paris. The fact was that Leonard looked upon 
Pascal as his own property. Poor and straggling 
with fairtune, having a widowed mother to support, 
as well as a young sister, he had determined at least 
to provide well for her by making her the wife of his 
friend. Unfortunately she was much younger than. 



190 ST. ROCH. 

Pascal; but all had gone well, for Pascal, at thirty, 
had neither wife nor mistress. Leonard's sister was 
then but just fifteen, but another year and all would 
be well. 

Leonard, who believed as little as Pascal did in the 
matrimonial ageucy of M. de St. Roch, was not averse 
to Pascal's making the experiment of his skill and 
power. This would amnse Pascal, and, of course, 
would lead to no results ; all Leonard wanted to gain 
was time ; a few months, and his sister sixteen, then 
all would go well, could not fail to do so. Pascal 
was perfectly unconscious of Leonard's designs; he 
seemed, however, lately to incline much towards mar- 
riage, at least he fanced he felt a want of interest in 
life. Leonard, for his own purposes, holding his sister 
in reserve, had encouraged tliis feeliug, and when 
they were alone, somehow the conversation almost 
always took the turn of a discussion on domestic bliss. 
Still Pascal had no serious intentions in visiting M. de 
St. Roch ; curiosity prompted him, and also a desire 
for fun, for with all his seriousness and positiveness, 
Pascal, uncorrupted socially by the world, was ex- 
ceedingly fond of fun. Accordingly, off set Pascal 
Devoine on his voyage of discovery. 

M. de St. Roch * lived in an enormous house, that 
formed two sides of a corner in one of the most fash- 
ionable streets of the Chausee de Autin. He occupied 
the second story, and his apartment had no less than 
sixteen windows looking on to the street, at all of 
which were curtains of ricli brocade and lace. There 
were two entrances and three staircases to this apart- 
ment. The first floor was occupied by a banker, the 
third by a fHilliner, so that both men and women had 
a fair pretext for entering the house, without being 
suspected of going to tlie matrimonial agent. 

Guided by the indication on the principal staircase, 
Pascal rang the bell at M. de St Roch's door. A ser- 
vant, in a magnificent livery, opened it immediately, 
and Pascal was introduced into a splendid drawing- 
room, there to await M. de St. Roch. Amidst all the 
magnificence, Pascal, who noticed all with a curious 
eye, beheld an innumerable quantity of nick-nacks on 
the various etajf-res, bearing inscriptions such as 
these: " To my friend." "To the author of our hap- 
piness." " Grate;ul tribute of a happy mother." "A 
memorial from a happy husband." 

Pascal was still engaged in looking at these tro- 
phies of M. de St. Roch's success, when the agent 
himself made his appearance. 

* All the details coucernlDg M. de St. Roch are faota. 



ST. KOCH. 191 

He was a little, thin, old man, clad m black silk 
knee breeches, white satin waistcoat, and blue coat 
with steel buttons, and wearing as much jewelry, 
such as gold chains, and diamond studs and rirtgs, as 
it was possible for one to put on. Pascal was per- 
fectly dazzled. 

"Ah!" exclaimed the agent, "you are looking at 
my exvotos, 1 see. Ah, sir, little memorials from the 
happy couples I have brought together. These are 
nothing ; I have seven other drawing-rooms filled 
with similar things." 

"You have been the means of marrying a good 
many people?" 

"The half of France, sir. So successful have I 
been that I am meditating adding another branch to 
my agency, a new one — an inspiration, sir." 

"What may that be?" 

" An insu»auce against matrimonial disputes By 
paying a small sum a year, husband and wife would 
each have a right to refer their disputes and discus- 
sions to a jury of a company formed for that purpose. 
But I have scarcely time yet for this great work. 
Pray, sir, in what can I oblige you ?" 

"1 desire to find a wife," boldly replied Pascal. 

"Then, sir," said the agent, rising, "I must trouble 
you to come into my private office." 

Pascal rose and followed him. The office was a 
large room, all oak and leather as to furniture, con- 
taining as many ledgers as Ottinger's bauking-house, 
and ranged in as good order. 

The agent closed the door, then turned gravely to 
his client. 

"Now, sir," said he, fancy yourself in a confes- 
sional ; no secret ever passes these doors. All that I 
tell you here will be true, for it is not my own interest 
to deceive." 

"I believe you, sir. Pi-ay let us proceed to busi- 
ness." 

" I am ready," and, as he spoke he opened a ledger, 
writing down every reply to his^uestions as Pascal 
gave them — name, age, profession, family details, for- 
tune — nothing was forgotten. 

" And now," said Pascal, " for the wife." 

"Sir," said the little old man, with much dignity, 
" I know that I speak nothing but the truth. 1 do not 
doubt you, but I cannot give you the names of any of 
my fair clien s until I know that what you tell me is 
exact. On Wednesday next, at two o'clock.' Good 
morning." 

Pascal had gone too far to recede ; Ms curiosity had 



193 ST. ROCH. 

been too much excited not to go on further. Accord- 
ingly, on Wednesday he was panctual to his appoint- 
ment. 

"Sir," said M. de St. Roch', "you are a peaii 
amongst clients.- You have exaggerated nothing. 
Your father is worth twenty thousand fiaucs a year, 
instead of ten, as you said. You yourself claim to 
possess only three hundred thou^sand fraucs. You are 
worth, according to your partner's estimate, nearly 
four. Ah! sir, I know all the events of your life bet- 
ter than your intimate friend, Doctor Leotaud." 

Pascal was startled, and almost regretted his visit; 
De St. Roch, however, continued: 

"i!^ow, sir, I can open my books to you. Do you 
want a rich wife?" 

"I want a wife I can love." 

" Oh ! here is one, half a million, nobility and title 
essential — that won't do — a widow — five hundred 
thousand francs, fifty-three years of " 

" Thank you ; go on to the next." 

"Two hundred thousand francs, tall, fair, beautifal, 
just twenty; this is better. Ah! here is a note; ser- 
vants speak ill of her temper." 

"I don't like fair women." 

"Ah! this will suit us — charming girl, black hair, 
was never at school, entirely home education, father a 
manufacturer, three hundred thousand francs, black 
hair and eyes." 

" Don't go any further. I think that will do. "What 
is her name ? Where can I see her ? " 

" All in good time ; first sign this paper." 

Pascal looked at the paper held towards him ; it was 
an obligation to pay five per cent, on the dowry to 
the agent- within forty-eight hours after the wedding 
day. 

Pascal hesitated an instant, but as he could not be 
married by force, and, unless he married, the paper 
would be void, he took the pen and signed. 

Then, on a paper, in a space left for that purpose, 
M. de St. Roch inserted the name of the lady, "Antoin- 
ette Gerbeau." 

'* Antoinette is a pretty name," said Pascal ; and so 
they parted. 

When Pascal told his friends the result of this visit, 
they all blamed him for having signed, excepting 
Leonard. 

" You would never take a wife from such a source, 
would you?" 

" Of course not. You know it's all a joke; and 
probably seeing who he has to deal with, M. de St. 
Roch will go no further." 



ST. ROCII. 1W6 

But, greatly to Ms surprise, on the third day after 
his visit, Pascal received a note from the agent: 

Dear Sir: There is an excellent opportunity of see- 
ing M'lle Antoinette Gerbeau. My esteemed friend, 
the Baron de Joufflers, will call upon you this evening 
at nine o'clock, and take you to a ball, where you 
will be able to see her, perhaps form her acquaint- 
ance. 

G. B. DE St. Koch. 

"Humph! It is eight now. Of course I shall not 
go ;" but at that moment his servant opened the door 
and announced, " M. )e Baron de Joufflers." 

M. de Joufflers was unmistakably a high-bred gen- 
tleman. 

"Monsieur Devoine," said he, "an old friend of 
mine tells me you desire to go into society ; I shall 
have great pleasure in introducing you into two or 
three houses where you will be received with the dis- 
tinction you deserve. To-night I will take you to a 
ball at the house of one of our judges of the Court de 
Cassation, M. de " 

Much amazed, Pascal at last decided that he had 
better see the adventure out. 

M de Joufflers was received with the utmost dis- 
tinction and courtesy. Pascal saw every one treat 
him with respect. As for the company around him, it 
was all genuine, consisting of the higher middle class 
of Parisian society. 

Towards the middle of the evening, M. de Joufflers 
came up to Pascal, and, without any sort of special 
meaning in manner, pointing out to a young lady 
seated in a corner by her mother, — 

" What do you think of her?" 

Pascal gazed at her, and he must have been more 
difiicult to please than all present had he n.>t at once 
pronounced her to be one of the prettiest girls in the 
room. 

"That," said M. de Joufflers, after Pascal had ex- 
pressed his admiration, "is M'lle Antoinette Ger- 
beau." 

Now, Pascal had long given up dancing, but as 
French etiquette does not require an introduction 
amongst the guests of the host, lie made his way up to 
M'lle Gerbeau, and asked her to dance. As she 
neither danced waltz or polka, she had but one quad- 
rille disengaged ; this she granted to Pascal. Their 
conversation during this quadrille was commonplace, 
yet at the end of it, Pascal was tempted to cry oat 

13 



194 ST. ROCH. 

encore to the orchestra, and by the time he had taken 
his partner back by her mother, he was in love. 

A.S lie could not dance with her again, and French 
good breeding forbid his conversing witii a young ua- 
jiiarried woman, he stood resolutely all the evening 
behind her mother's chair, and talked to her, A 
charming, sensible, well-bred woman he found her. 
At the conclusion of the evening he joined the Baron. 

" My dear sir, she is the most charming girl I ever 
met with ; iier mother, too, is agi-eeable and amiable. 
Can you not introduce me? Take me to their house." 

"iS'^o," said Joulliers, "but [ can contrive that you 
should meet Monsieur Gerbeau, and he, perhaps, will 
invite you. Come to-morrow at eleven, and breakfast 
with me." 

Pascal was exact to the hour, and a few minutes 
later M. Gerbeau came. He was a respectaole-lookiug 
old gentleman, perfectly satisfied with the world, re- 
tired from business, and deterjuiued to enjoy life in 
his own quiet, respectable way. It so happened that, 
at this very time, he had got himself into a scrape. 
He had undertaken to build him a house, and between 
lazy masons and dishonest architects, he found his 
purse got every day lower, whilst his house rose no 
higher. Pascal, to whom he recounted his sorrows, 
as he did to every one, undertook at once to set all 
right, and thus obtained admittance into the family. 
Tiie more he saw of Antoinette the more he admired 
and loved her. The family, too, delighted him ; there 
was something so genial and honest about the father, 
whilst the mother, good, gentle, and sensible, re- 
minded him of his own dear mother. Why should 
the image of the matrimonial agent pirsue him like a 
spectre? Pascal Devoine would have given half he 
possessed to have become acquainted with Antoinette 
by some other means. Certain, however, he was, thac 
she knew nothing ot M. de St. Roch, nor her mother 
neither; perhaps her lather, a business man, had in- 
nocently supposed all marriages were negotiated like 
other business matters. Pascal, for many weeks, was 
sjrely puzzled ; at length, however", he got beyond 
reasoning, and saw only through his feelings. 
Prompted by these, he boldly declared his love to M. 
Gerbeau, and asked the lirind of his daughter. M. 
Gerbeau was much pleased, but asked for two or three 
days to reflect. Of course he proceeded to make in- 
qu ries concerning his future son-in-law, and as M. de 
Joufflers had introduced him, to him he applied. 
Joulliers spoke as if he had known Pascal Devoine 
and his family for twenty years, giving the minutest 



ST. KOCH. 195 

details, which of course, had been furnished him by 
the agent. So all was settled ; and one evening Pas- 
cal, who had concealed all relating to M. de St. Eoch, 
after the second interview, declared to his friend 
Leonard that he was going to he married. 

Here was a blow to Leonard's long-cherished hopes. 
He sank into a cha:r, perfectly overcome, whilst Pas- 
cal proceeded into his bed-room to dress, being en- 
gaged to go to the opera with Antoinette and her 
mother. 

Leonard sat plunged in thought in Pascal's study, 
his eyes fixed on the table. Where coifld Pascal have 
fjund a wife? — how had it been managed? All at 
once his eyes fell on an open letter ; it was precisely 
the one M. de St. Koch had written, introducing the 
Baron de Jouffiers. Leonard did not hesitate an in- 
stant after he had comprehended all; bat secure in 
Pascal's absence, he sat down and wrote two letters. 
The first was addressed to Pascal's father, and ran 
thus : 

Dear Sir: As soon as you receive this, hasten to 
Paris. Your son has fallen into the hands of a scoun- 
drel, a matrimonial agent, M. de St. Koch, and is 
about to be married to a young lady procured by 
him, who could find, otheiwise, no honest man to 
marry her. Do not show this letter to Pascal. 

The second letter was written to M. Gerbeau, and, 
like the first, was anonymous: 

My Dear Friend: Allow me to congratulate you 
on the marriage of your daughter, for whom M. de St. 
Koch, the matritnonial agent, has found a htisband. 
He may be rich, which I doubt He certainly was 
expelled from the school of artillery. I shall be at 
the wedding. 

Tour Unknown Friend, 

In this letter Leonard enclosed St. Koch's letter, but 
as he did not know either the name or address of the 
fnture father-in-law, he put the letter in his pocket, 
and joining Pascal in the room, began with a profound 
number of questions concerning his future family, 
and soon contrived to arrive at the knowledge of all 
he wanted to know. 

Pascal was much surprised when, two days after 
this, his father suddenly appeared before him. 

" Unhappy boy," said he, as soon as the first greet- 
ings were over, "what is this I hear? you are going 
to be married." 

" i wrote all to you." 



196 ST. ROCH. 

"Yes, but yon didn't tell me all abont yonr mar- 
riase; what, a girl who gets a husbaud through an 
agent " — 

" Do not say a word against her ; she is purity 
itself." 

"And her father— her family? 

"They are, beyond all doubt, respectable and rich ; 
I have seen the very best society at their house." 

"All a trick! a trick! you are duped, bat I will go 
myself to this man." 

"It is of no u^e, I love Antoinette." 

"If she is only poor, if that is the only deception, 
Pascal, I promise you to say nothing ; but at least let 
us know well lo whom we give the name your mother 
bears so honorably." 

Just as they were going out, M. le Baron de Joufflers 
entered and demanded an audience of Pascal. He 
was so changed and sorrowful that Pascal could not 
refrain from asking him what was the matter. 

"Ah sir," said he, " M. Gerbeau forbids you ever to 
come to his house again." 

" What is the matter with him ?" 

" Some one has mentioned de St. Eoch's name to 
him, and that he is the victim of such a negotiation." 

"Absurd! Why he must have known it frcm the 
first." 

" No, he did not ; he had never heard of him. Ah ! 
you don't understand St. Roch's mode of proceeding." 

" No, explain it." 

"He has agents in every class of society — decayed 
gentlemen, widows of small foituue, young wives 
with stingy husbands, m<m of fashion — to whom he 
pays high salaries and high percentage. These 
agents " 

" Of which you are one." 

" Of which I am one, for I must live— these agents 
furnish him with the names of all the marriageable 
girls of their acquaintance, as well as of the young, 
unmarried men, together with the details of fortune 
and family. In this manner I gave St. Roch M'lle 
Gerbeau's name, and he put her on his lists. In 
almost all the marriages he makes, one party is 
always in ignorance of the agent employed." 

"How was Gerbeau informed?" 

" By an anonymous letter, from one of your friends, 
too, for St. Roch's letter tc you was enclosed." 

"Ah!" said Pascal, "1 have some traitor among my 
friends. But perhaps all may be yet explained." 

" Not for me ; my credit is lost forever with St. 



ST. ROCH. 197 

Roch ; Gerbeau will betray me, and I shall be driven 
from society." 

" How can a man like yon " 

"Alas! M. Pa.scal, once I was rich — I am now poor, 
and without a profession ; ac my age, whac could 
I do?" 

Meantime, M. Devoine had ^one in a storming- pas- 
sion to M. St. Koch, and profoundly astouislied him by 
seizing him as soon as he saw him by tlie collar of his 
blue coat. Before, however, explanation could be 
reached, the door opened, and Monsieur Gerbeau en- 
tered. The unfortunate agent at once imagined he 
was saved, and shouted at th-i top of his voice — 

" Monsieur Devoine, allow me to introduce Monsieur 
Gerbeau." 

"Monsieur Devoine!" exclaimed Gerbeau. " Sir, I 
distinctly refuse your son." 

"Sir," said M. Devoine, "a young lady reduced to 
the necessity of getting a husband through this man, 
is not to be regretted." 

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," put in De St. Eoch, " I re- 
fer you to M. Bercrand, the notary, who knows you 
both, if I have deceived either of your families in one 
single article. Monsieur Devoine, M. Gerbeau knew 
nothing of this negotiation ; he never came to me be- 
fore. Monsieur Gerbeau, indeed M. Pascal is all 1 
have told you. Go to Bertraud. Why quarrel? there 
is no harm done, and M. Pascal loves the young lady." 

The two fathers looked at each other. There was a 
free masonry of honesty in their looks that broughc 
them instantly to an understanding. Without a word 
to St. Roch, taking each other by the arm, they left 
the room, and in a few moments they were on their 
way to M. Bertraad. Bertraud, their old friend, soon 
satisfied them both that neither were impostors, and 
arm in arm, perfectly agreed to the marriage of their 
children, they proceeded to find Pascal. 

No explanation was needed to him but that he had 
everybody's consent to be Antoinette's husband. 

"Still," said Gerbeitu, "I can't think how a young 
fellow, situated as you are, could think of going to St. 
Eoch to get a wife." 

" I went merely as a joke." 

" My dear sir, marriage is no joke," said Gerbeau. 

"Nu; and to make a joke of it was like playing 
with fire." 

^^ Now, before we see Antoinette, let us compare our 
anonymous letters. Look, Pascal, do you know the 
writing of eichftr ?" 

The writing was disguised, but not so much but that 



198 ST. KOCH. 

Pascal tui-ned pale as he gazed on it. He recognized, 
too, his own paper, for his initials were stamped in the 
corner, and with a pang he was forcbd to acknowledge 
that Leonard was the culprit. He, however, said 
nothing, but crushing the letters up in his hands, 
thrust them away. 

As soon as all the formalities could be accomplished, 
the settlements made, and the trousseau completed, 
Pascal aud Autuiuette were married. The poor Baron 
was not at the wedding. On the morning of his wed- 
ding day, Pascal, taking Leonard aside, placed in his 
Lands the anonymous letters. 

"Leonard," said he, "when next you write incognito 
to any friends of mine, don't use my paper." 

Leonard, without speaking, took the letters, and 
there was another guest besides the Baron absent from 
the festivities. 

On the seond mornintr after his marriage, M. de St. 
Roch entered Pascal's library in his new house in the 
Champs Elysees. 

" I come to congratulate you, ray dear client. I was 
present at y.iur %veddiug-mass. She is beautiful, beau- 
tiful! Three hundred thousand francs dowry, and 
such a wife!" 

" Yes, I am lucky, and supremely happy." 

"Another consolation for my old age," said Roch, 
sentimeatally. " Aow, all that remains is for you to 
fulfil this little obligation." And, as he spoke, Roch 
jn-oduced the paper Pascal had signed on his first 
visit. 

"What if I refuse?" 

"You will not. Five per cent, on your happiness 
is, I think, very little. Oh, no. You would n t like 
to tell the world hmv you became acquainted with 
your lovely young wife." 

" Here is a check for your money. Tfow begone." 

"Yes," said Roch, " like the §-ood fiiiry in the pan- 
tomime ; aud I will take with me the paper weight as 
a memor'al of your gratitude. Adieu, uiy son. You 
must acknowledge that I am truthful, discreet, and 
disinterested ; and if ever you should become a wid- 
ower, and want a second — 

Here Pascal pushed him out and shut the door ; and 
that was the last he ever saw of the Matsimoxial 

AGfiiST. 



A. MODERN SAMSON. 199 



TAKING THE CHANCES. 

Last summer several of the tourists ia the \icinit7 
of Ossipee took it into their heads to go tishing, and 
chartering a horse they started for their destiuation — 
a town some few miles from the one where they were 
staying — laying in a supply of rations for the jour- 
ney; not forgetting the spiritual comforts. They had 
a weary day of it and slim luck, and coming home at 
night they lost their way, bringing up at an old-fash- 
ioned country tavern, at which they stopped to rest 
and refresh themselves. They patronized the house 
somewhat, and on coming out to take the road home, 
it became very suddenly evident to them that their 
horse had been changed. The one they began the day 
with was a respectable beast, they very well remem- 
bered, but this was a sorry vagabond of a horse, 
hardly worthy to be called a horse, and it must have 
been changed. But how? The horse stood in the 
wagon, just as they had left him. and the ostler said 
no one had come there since their arrival. The laud- 
lord heard the altei'cation, and after listening to what 
was said, quietly remarked : " Gentlemen, if you will 
walk in and take about three glasses more of my 
wliiskey, I have no doubt that you will recognize 
your horse!" They thought they'd rather take the 
chance as it occurred. 



A MODERN SAMSON. 

In Dr. Alfred Booth's Reminiscences of Springfield, 
Mass., occurs the following account of Deacon Hitch- 
cock: " Born in 1722, in the North Main street region, 
he removed while a young man into the east part of 
the town, now known as Souta Wilbrahara, married 
in 1743, and was the first deacon of the church there, 
continuing in ofiice many years. He is well remem- 
bered by the Hon. Oliver B. Morris, as occupyiug the 
deacon's seat at meetings, his whitened locks giving 
him quite a venerable appearance. During a long 
life he was of wonderful strength, agility, and endur- 
ance, and had he lived in the palmy days of Greece, 
he would have been a worthy competitor in the games 
of those days. It is related of him that on one occa- 
sion, a man riding by the field where he was at work, 



200 TO THE ATHEIST. 

and boasting of the speed of his horse, was challenged 
by tlie deacon, who said he could run from Springfield 
quicker on foot than the horse with his rider could. 
The race resulted in the triumph of the deacon, dis- 
tance ten miles, time not stated. He would lift a cart- 
load of hay by getting his shoulders under the axle, 
in a stooping posture, and throw an empty cart over 
with one hand by taking hold at the ead of the axle- 
tree. When loading grain in a cart he would take a 
bag by the teeth, and with a swing and the aid of a 
push from the knee, throw it into the cart. He had 
double teeth iu front, and would hold a tenpenny nail 
by them and break it otf with his fingers. He used to 
say he did not know a man he could not whip or run 
away from. The day he was seventy years old, he 
remarked to his wife that when they were first mar- 
ried he was wont to amuse her by taking down his 
hat with his toes, and added, " I wondei^ if I could do 
it now!" Thereupon he jumped from the floor, took 
off his hat with his toes, came down on his feet like a 
cat, hung up the hat on the nail, turued to the table, 
asked a blessing, and ate of the repast then ready. 



TO THE ATHEIST. 



BT DAVID PAUL B R W JT . 

Why do I live ? And why was I created ? 

Merely to die ! To die, and be no more ! 

To feed the lazy worm that my successor 

Shall trample on, or bait his hook withal! 

Or shall this frame of mine, form'd to nice uses, 

Bless'd with perceptions, faculties and sense 

Inferior but to angels, serve only to enrich 

The incumbent soil, and nourish the rank weeds 

That spring and cluster round my last abode, 

The narrow house appointed for all living — 

Aj)pointed as the purtaL to all life? 

Not as the resting-place, not as the goal 

To the world's course — not as the end and object 

Of mau's creation— not as his reward — 

ICot as his penalty ; — but as the point 

Wiiere Time resigns his sceptre unto God, 

And mortals cloth'd with immortality 

Are duom"d to an eterual bliss or woe. 

With kindred spirits iu Tartarean gulfs, 

Or in the beatific courts of Heaven. 



love's belief. 201 

Man has his objects and his purposes, 

Wild as they are, and fatal to themselves — 

Fatal to him, as they too often prove ; 

Y'et ne'er so false and dispropDriiouate 

To the decrees of reason — worldly reason — 

As rhose which Ave ascribe to Deity 

In His omnicient wisdom! Wliereis God's work. 

Save Man, that does not glorify His power, 

And offer tribute, iucen^^e, to His throne? 

Go rauge and analyze Creation through, 

From the mere atom crush'd beneath thy foet 

Up to "the morning stars that saug togetlier 

While all the sons of God shouted for juy '" 

Take the merebladeof grass — the simplest tluw'r — 

The bird — the insect— earth and air and sea — 

Look upon all, around thee and dbove thee, 

And see how each in its appropriate sphere 

Eefers to something hig/iKr, Itiglier still. 

Until the eye exhausts itself with gazing ! 

Thought sickens with its gross impiety. 

And the soul mounts in faith to meet its God 



LOVE'S BELIEF. 

I believe if I should die, 

And you should kiss my eyelids when I lie 
Cold, dead, and dumb to all the world contains, 

The folded orbs would open at thy bi^eath, 

And from its exile in the aisles of death 
Life would come gladly back along my veins. 

I believe if I were dead. 

And you upon my lifeless heart should treaa, 
Not knowing what the poor clod chanced to be, 

It would had sadden pulse beneath the touch 

Or' him it ever loved in life so much, 
And throb again, warm, tender, true to thee. 

I believe if on my grave, 

Hidden in woody deeps or by the wave. 
Your eyes should drop some warm tear of regret. 

From every salty seed of your dear grief 

Some fair sweet blossom would leap into leaf, 
To prove death could not make my love forget. 

I believe, if I should fade 

Into those mystic realms where light is made, 
And you should loug ouce move my face to see, 

1 would come forth upon the hills of night, 

And gather stars like faggots, till thy sight 
Led by their beacon biaze foil full on me! 



203 WHO ATE ROGER WILLIAMS ? 

X 

I believe my faith in tliee, 

Strong as my life, so nobly placed to be, 
I would as soon expect to see tbe sun 

Fall like dead king from liis height sublime, 

His glory sti'ickeu from the throne of Time, 
As thee unworth the worship thou base won. 

I believe who has not loved 

Hath half the treasure of his life unproved ; 
Like one who with the grape within his grasp, 

Drops it with all its crimson juice unpn^ssed, 

And all its luscious sweetness left iinguessed, 
Out from his careiess and unheeding clasp. 

I believe love, pure and true, 

Is to the soul a sweet, iinmoi tal dew 

That gems life's petals in its hours o-f dusk — 
The waiting angels see and recognize 
Tbe rich Crown Jewel, Love of Paradise, 

When life falls from us like a withered busk. 



WHO ATE ROGER WILLIAMS? 

The truth that matter passes from the animal back 
to the vegetable, and from the vegetable to the animal 
kingdom again, received a curious illustration not 
long since. 

For the purpose of erecting a suitable monumpnt in 
memory of Koger Williams, the founder of Rhode 
Island, his private burying ground was searched for 
the graves of himself and wife. It was found that 
everything had passed into oblivion. The shape of 
tlie coffin could only be traced by a black line of car- 
bonaceous matter. The rusted hinges and nails, and a 
round wooden knot, alone remained in one grave; 
while a single lock of braided hair was found in thii 
other. Wear the grave stood an apple-tree. This had 
sent down two main roots into tiie very presence of 
the coffined dead. The larger root, pushing its way 
to the precise spot occupied by the skull of Roger 
Williams, had made a turn as if passing around it, 
and lollowed the dinction of the back bone to tho 
hips. Here it divided into two branches, sending 
one along each leg to the heels, Avhen botii turued up- 
ward to the toes. One of these roots formed a slight 
crook at the knee, which made the whole bear a 
striking resemblance to the human form. There were 
the graves, but their occupants had disappeared ; the 
bones even had vanished. There stood the thief — the 



MISS NIGHTINGALE ON NURSING. 203 

guilty apple-tree— Gatiglit in the very act of rolibery. 
The spoliation was complete. The organic matter — 
the flesh, the bones of Roger "Williams, had passed 
into the apple-tree. The elements had beeu absorbed 
by the roots, transmuted into -woody fibre, which 
could now be burned as fuel, or carved into orna- 
ments ; had bloomed into fragrant blossoms, which 
delighted the eye of the passer-by, and scattered the 
sweetest perfume of spring ; more than that — has 
been converted into luscious fruit, which, from year 
to year, had been gathered and eaten. How perti- 
nent, then, is the question, " Who ate Eoger Wil- 
liams?" 



MISS NIGHTINGALE ON NURSING. 

The following sensible remarks are from Miss 
Nightingale's book on Ntirsing: — Never to allow a 
patient to be waked, intentionally or accidentally, is 
a sine qua non of all good nursing. If he is roused 
out of his first sleep he is almost certain to have no 
more sleep. It is a curious, but quite intelligible fact, 
that if a paiient is waked after a few hours' instead 
of a few minutes' sleep he is much more likely to 
sleep again; because pain, like irritability of brain, 
perpetuates and intensifies itself. If you have gained 
a respite of either in sleep, you have gained more 
than the mere respite. Both the probability of recur- 
rence and of the same intensity will be diminished; 
whereas both will be terribly increased by want of 
sleep. This is the reason'why sleep is so all impor- 
tant. This is the reason why a patient waked in the 
early part of his sleep loses not only his sleep, but his 
power to sleep. A healthy person who allows him- 
self to sleep during the day will lose his sleep at 
night ; but it ,.is exactly the reverse with the sick 
generally ; the more they sleep the better will they 
be able to sleep. I have often been surprised at the 
thouk'htlessness (resulting in cruelty quite uninten- 
tionally) of friends or of doctors, who will hold a long 
conversation just in the room or passage adjuinin:^' 
the room of the patient, who is either every moment 
expecting them to come in, or who has just seen them 
and knows they are talking about him. If he is an 
amiable patient he will try to occupy his attention 
elsewhere, and not to listen ; and this makes matters 
worse, for the strain upon his attention and the eSort 
lie makes are so great, that it is well if he is not 



204 MISS NIGHTINGALE ON NURSING. 

"Worse for hours after. If it is a whispered conversa- 
tioa iu the same room, then it is absolutely cruel ; for 
it is impossible that the patieat's atteuciou should not 
be iuvoluutarily strained to hear. Walking on tip-toe, 
doini,' aaychiog in the room very slowly, are injuri- 
ous for exactly the same reasons. A firm, light, 
quick step, a steady, quick Land are the desideiata; 
not the slow, lingeriug, shuffling foot, the timid, un- 
certain touch. Slowness is not gentleness, though it 
is often mistaken for such ; quickness, lightness, and 
gentleness are quite incompatible. Again, if friends 
and doct )rs did but watch, as nurses can aud should 
watch, the features sharpeaing, the eyes growing 
almost wild, of fever patients wbo are listening for 
the entrance from the corridor of the persons wliose 
voices they are hearing there, these would never run 
the risk again ot creating such expectation or irrita- 
tion of mind. Such unnecessary noise has undoubt- 
edly induced or aggravated delirium in many cases, 
I have known such ; in one case death ensued. It is 
but fair to say that this death was attributed to 
fright. It was the result of a long whispered conver- 
sation, within sight of the patient, about an impend- 
ing operation; but any one who has known the more 
than stoicism, the cheerful coolness, witb which the 
certainly of an operation will be accepted by any pa- 
tient capable of bearing an operation at all, if it is 
properly communicated to him, will hesitate to be- 
lieve that it was mere fear which produced, as was 
averred, the fatal result iu this instance. It was 
ratiier the uncertainty, the strained expectation as to 
what was to be decided upon. I need hardly say that 
the other common cause, namely, for a doctor or 
friend to leave the patient and communicate his opin- 
ion on the result of his visit to the friends just out- 
side the patient's door or in the adjoining room, after 
the visit, but within hearing or knowledge of the pa- 
tient, is, if possible, worst of all. It is, I think, 
alarming, peculiarly at this time, when the female 
ink-bottles are perpetually impressing upon us 
woman's " particular worth and general missionari- 
ness," to see that the dress of womeu is daily more 
aud more unhtting them for any "mission" or use- 
fulness at all. It is equally unhtted for all poetic and 
all domestic purposes. A man is now a more handy 
and far less objectionable being in a sick room than a 
woman. Compelled by her dress, every woman no w 
either shuffles or waddles; only a man can cross the 
fljor of a sick room without shaking it. What has 
become of woman's light step — the firm, light, quick 
step we have been asking for l 



TWO SHARPEKS. 205 



TWO SHARPERS. 

A NOTED sportsman taking dinner at one of tlie New 
York clubs, exliibited a diamond ring of great beauty 
and apparent value on liis finger. A gentleman present 
bad a great passion for diamonds. After dinner tbe par- 
ties met in the office. After much bantering the owner 
of the ring consented to barter the ring for $600. As 
the buyer left the room a suppressed tittering struck 
his ear. He concluded that the former owner had sold 
both the ring and the purchaser. He said nothing, 
but called the next day upon a jeweller, where he 
learned that the diamond was paste and the ring 
worth about twenty-five dollars. He examined some 
real diamonds and found one closely resembling the 
paste in his own ring ; he hired the diamond for a 
few days, pledged $1,200, the price of it, and gave $100 
for its use. lie went to another jeweller, had the 
paste removed, and the real diamond set. His chums, 
knowing how he had been imposed upon, impatiently 
awaited his appearance the next night. To their as- 
tonishment they found him in rare glee. He flour- 
ished his ring, boasted of Ms bargain, and said if any 
gentleman present had a $1 ,200 ring to sell for $600 he 
knew of a purchaser. When he was told that the 
ring was paste and that he had been cheated he 
laughed at tlieir f lly. Bets were freely ofi'ered that 
the ring did not contain a real diamond. Two bet one 
thousand dollars each, two also bet five hundred dol- 
lars. All were taken, umpires were chosen, the 
money and the ring were put into their bauds. They 
went to a first-class jeweller, who applied all the 
tests, and who said the diamond was a stone of the 
first water and worth, without the setting, twelve 
hundred dollars. The buyer put the three thousand 
dollars which he had won quietly in his pocket. He 
carried the diamond back and recalled his twelve 
hundred dollars, and with the paste ring on his finger 
went to tlie club. The man who sold the ring Avas 
waiting for him. He wanted to get the ring back ; he 
attempted to turn the Avhnle thing into a joke. He 
sold the ring for fun ; he knew it was a real diamond 
all the time; he never wore false jewels ; he could 
tdl a rare diamond anywhere by its light; he would 
not be so mean as to cheat an old friend ; he knew 
his friend would let him have his ring again. Bat 
his friend was stubborn— said that the seller thought 



206 THE ANNIVERSARY PRESENT. 

it was paste and intended to defraud him. At length, 
on the payment of eii,'ht hundred dollars, the ring was 
restored. All parties came to the conclusion, when 
the whole affair came out, that when diamond cuts 
diamond again some one less sharp will be selected. 



CARE OF TEETH 

RoussEAiT said that no woman with fine teeth could 
be ugly. Any female mouth with a good set of teeth 
is kissable The too early loss of the first teeth has 
an unfavorable influence upon thebeauty and duration 
of the second. The youngest should accordiat^ly be 
made to take care of them. All that is necessary is to 
brush them several times a day with a little ordinary 
soap or magnesia and water. 

After eating, the particles of food should be care- 
fully removed from the teeth by means of a toothpick 
of quili or wood, but never of metal, and by a thread 
passed now and then between the teeth. Camphor- 
ated and acid tooth-powders are injurious both to the 
enamel and the gums, and if employed every particle 
should be removed from the gums by carefully rins- 
ing. The habit which some ladies have of using a 
bit of lemon, though it may whiten the teeth and give 
a temporary firmness and color to the gums, is fatal 
to the enamel, as are all acids. 

]So one, young or old, should turn their jaws into 
nut-crackers ; and it is even dangerous for women to 
bite off, as they oftpn do, the ends of the thread in sew- 
ing, it is not safe to bring very hot food or drink, 
especially if immedia'ely followed by anything cold, 
in contact with the teeth. 



THE ANNIVERSARY PRESENT. 

The deeply-craped doorbell on a stately mansion in 
one of the quiet (?) streets of Paris, hut too plainly 
told the tale of sorrow within. Death, the only truly 
democratic thing on earth, the visitor alike of peer and 
peasant, had entered, for the second time in one year, 
the home of Rosalie Dutille ; first, it had taken mother, 
now it claimed father. 

Monsieur Dutille had been a srood man, to a certain 
extent, that is to say, he had indulged his family, cou- 
sisCiug of two — Eosalie and her mother — in every 



THE ANNIVERSARY PRESENT. 207 

luxury knowa to the nineteenth century. "Could he 
afford it?" was the comment of many; but as years 
passed, and no change was visible, comments ceased. 

Madame Dutille had been a weak, frivolous woman, 
who took everytliing for granted, never questioning; 
but, on the coutrary, closing her eyes to au;,'hr save 
comfort of body, never for an instant thinking of the 
soul. As she lived, she died ; therefore, her death was 
felt but little by either husband or daughter. 

Kosalie had centred all her love on her father, ex- 
cept what little she could spare to give to George Man- 
nell, who had, for the last three months, been most 
uevoted in his attentions to the daughter of the reputed 
millionaire, M. Dutille. 

Utterly unable to realize her loss, Eosalie sat as one 
stupefleii by the dead body of her father, waiting for 
the arrival of her father's brother, her uncle, Arthur 
Dutille. He came at length, and a few hours' investi- 
gation into the affairs of M. Dutille sufficed to find out 
the sad fact that he had lived up to every cent of his 
income. He had entered into specalation after specu- 
lation, until success had made him mad, and when 
failure had met him, he still madly persisted, until 
inevitable ruin stare l him in the face ; and this it was 
that had shattered his nerves, aud, to a certain extent, 
caused his death. 

He. was buried quietly, and soon forgotten. The 
fact of his failure soon became known, and the 
daughter, as well as the memory of the father, were 
shunned. Kosalie was told by her uncle that she muse 
seek work. He pitied her, could not assist her, and 
placing a few hundi-ed francs in her hand, all that 
was left of her father's fortune, he left her with his 
best wishes and his blessing. 

Kosalie's thoughts were indeed sad. "Society" 
deserted her. She had seen its utter heartlessuess and 
its true value. It is difficult to learn that the hand we 
f eagerly grasp in friendship is extended to our posi- 
tion and not to ourselves ; but Rosalie ha,d learned the 
bitter lesson. Oue friend alone stood firm — George 
Mannell. He consoled, cheered her, and assisted her 
to form some plan for the future, which resulted iu 
liiriiig two rooms, with the intentiou of resting for a 
few months, at least unt.l she could determine what 
steps to take. 

Every day George visited her, and every day she 
looked moie eagerly for liis coming ; feeling happier 
and more couteuted each time he came, and more un- 
liappy and lonely each time he left. 

6u things continued for two months, when one day 



308 THE ANNIVERSARY PRESENT. 

Georgp entered Rosalie's pretty little parlor nnan- 
nouuced and without kuockiui,'. Rosalie was iH^adijig, 
but quickly dropped her book, and the bni,'ht smile 
of welcome which covered her usually sad face would 
have given courage to the most timid lover, which 
Georgri was not. 

" Rosalie," bearan George, " I know I was rude not 
to knock, but 1 feel so at home here, ic seemed ridicu- 
lous to stand upon any ceremony." 

"I am so glad you think so." 

"I think, Rosalie, I can speak to you freely now, 
can I not ?" 

Here George took a seat quite close to Rosalie. 

" I hope so," was the timid reply. 

" I have been patient for two months, and uow I am 
going to tell you I love you, and I want you to name 
the earliest possible day on which you will take 
charge of a careless, indolent fellow, and be mistress 
of his heart and home." 

"I won't assume surprise at your avowal, George, 
but 1 deny that you are careless and indolent." 

"Then you do love me, Rosalie?" 

" Of course I do." 

" And whea will you be my wife ?' 

"When you wish." 

" Then at once — I mean in a day or two." 

And so it was arranged. 

Society wondered ; called it a good match ; won- 
dered that Rosalie did not seem more elated with the 
idea of mari-ying a man holding the position of George 
Mannell ; but it was Rosalie's nature to take things 
calmly. 

They were married. Their's was indeed a happy 
home, though it was not so extravagantly grand as 
Rosalie had been accustomed to. George declared that 
further happiness was impossible, and, strange as it 
may seem, the envious world for once prophesied no 
cloud in the future. 

The first year of married life one can scarcely judge 
by — it is merely an introduction to married life — a 
time wheu many idols are overthrown, and also many 
qualities discovered which were unsuspected before. 
The second anniversary of Rosalie's weddintr-day was 
also the birthday of a darling child, and her home 
possessed the elements to make it more homelike thaa 
ever, but Ge u-ge was seldom there. It was not that 
he loved his wife the less, that her temper had 
changed — no, the change was in hira. Before he had 
married he had chosen his associates from a circle that 
it was diflScult to break from, uow that their society 



THE ANXLTERSART PRESENT. 209 

was no longer essential to him. He was close in 
his acteation to business; his success had arisen from 
industry as well as talent; but when the couuting- 
house was closed, there was no family circle to wel- 
come him, and the door of the club house was invit- 
ini'ly open. True, it was one of tlie most respectable 
cialjs, and he had thought to give it up because he 
was marriel would only turu him into a subject for 
ridicule; therefore, he concluded to devote only one 
evening a week to it; but as time rolled on, he de- 
voted cwo or three evenings, and hnally, each evening 
found him at the club. 

Poor Rosalie felt discouraged ; but beyond the fact 
of George's absence every evening, she would not 
complain ; he loved her, loved the baby, and what 
more could she wish ? 

He had returned hurriedly one morning in search of 
some papers left in his room, dignified by the name of 
study — it communicated with his wife's boudoir, 
which was just then occupied by her and her only 
intimate friend, Eleanor Rochelle. Eleanor was ques- 
tioning Rosalie in regard to George's continual 
absence. 

"Yes, but yon are never seen anywhere, Rosalie." 

George caught this sentence, and being anxious to 
hear Rosalie's answer — having, probably, a guilty 
conscience — he listened. 

"I am well sa:isfi.ed at home; you know, Eleanor, 
I have a baby, and could not go out, and it must be so 
tiresome for a man to spend his evenings with babies, 
who do nothing but sleep, and monopolize the entire 
time of their mother." 

George waited to hear no more, but vowed to spend 
at least one evening in the week with his dear Rosalie. 

Rosalie and her friend continued to chat, and George 
continued to form good resolutions on his way to 
business. 

In the evening, he surprised Rosalie by avowing his 
determination to remain at home. 

" It will be so nice, George, to have one of our nice 
evenings." 

They talked of the baby, of their courtship, and 
everything they could find of any interest, until 
about ten o'clock, when George looked at his watch, 
paused, rubbed his eyes, and then said: 

'• Rosalie, you look sleei)y ; go to bed ; I will take a 
run round to the club, and be back directly. Now, 
mind you, don't sit up for me." 

He rang the bell for the maid, and, kissing his wife 
and baby, went out, humming the liberty duett from 



Puritani. 



14 



210 THE ANNIVERSARY PRESENT. 

"2^ot an entire evening can he spd.re me," thought 
poor Rosalie, and taking her baby in her arms, she 
cried herself to sleep. 

George was detained much longer than he antici- 
pated ; he m-t his partner, who was in search of him ; 
he learned, much to his dismay, that the presence of 
one of the members of the iiini was necessary in 
America — being the junior partner, the journey would 
devolve on him. He liurried home, and found Rosalie 
had retired. He stood a long time leaning, his head 
in his hands, over the mauilepiece, and thought over 
many tilings that had happeued in the last few years, 
the unvarying love and constancy of his wife, his late 
neglect, for he could call it by no gentler name, and 
then came the dreadful thought that ln^ must leave all 
his domestic happiness — and who knew what might 
happen before he returned "? He kissed his sleep. ug 
wife and child with unwonted tenderness, anl 
thought that they had never been so dear to him 
before. 

Ko-alie was almost heart-broken when, in the 
morning, she learned of his intended departure ; fear 
for the friends he might form while abroad, and the 
loneliness of her life for three whole months. But it 
must be, and she bore it bravely. 

The prepar.ttions were hastened, and at the close of 
the week they were standing at the door, saying their 
good-by. 

"I have been a bad boy, Rosalie, but ji-ou won't 
know me when I return. Don't worry, dear— keep 
well." 

"Oh ! George, take me with you." 

•'Come, come, Rosalie, this is undignified for a 
mother,"' said George, trying to joke her tears away, 
*' If you are very good, Rosalie, as they tell ciiildren, 
I will send you the most charming present you can 
fancy, or that America can off^-r, for an anniversary 
present. Too bad that we shall be separated for the 
first time, but three months will soon pass, and who 
knows but you may have cause to bless this journey, 
even though it does separate us for a little while?" 

Poor Rosalie tried to smile through her tears at the 
half-sad, half-playful words, and a wife-like glance of 
trustfulness told how very dear he was. 

A month passed slowly away, and little George had 
been his mother's best comforter. Every day Rosalie 
could trace in the features of her child some token of 
resemblance to the absent one. Bat suddenly the 
child grew ill, and the pain of separation was doubled 
as day by day the mother watched alone. She had 



WORKIlsrG AND WAITING. 211 

forgotten that the birth-day of the infant was so near, 
■which they had twice welcomed so joyfully. At 
length the crisis came, and the dear one was restored 
to i:s anxious mother, well ; and it was with a thank- 
ful, happy heart that Rosalie sat, with her baby on 
her lap, reading a letter from her husband. The let- 
ter announced chat his business was all settled, and 
that his return might be looked for by the next 
steamer ; meantime, he sent the accompanying choice 
gift for the anniversary of their marriage. It was the 
morniag of that very day. She opened the box — 
there were many beautiful things, such as women de- 
light to look on, and at last she came to a small pack- 
age marked, "For our wedding-day." It contained a 
little jewel case, but there was nothing on the snowy 
cushion of white satin but a pair of clasps for baby's 
dress ; but as she was replacing them, a sealed envel- 
ope fell to the floor. She open-d it. There was an 
iuelosure directed to a name slie was not familiar 
with, and a few lines pencilled to herself: 

Dearest Wife: I have searched all over New York 
and could not find anything that I thought would 
please you better than the inclosed, which is my res- 
igaatiou of club membership. Will you please send 
it to the President, to whom it is directed, and accept 
the earnest love of your devoted husband? 

George, 

How unspeakably happy was Eosalie as she read 
her husband's letter. 

True to his word, George arrived by the next 
steamer. Absence had taught him the value of the 
rare treasure of -a happy home. He never regretted 
the club, and always found every evening very short, 
and Rosalie did indeed discover that his journey had 
been a blessing. 



WORKING AND WAITING. 

Look on that form, once flt for the sculptor! 

l,i)ok on that cheek, where the roses have died ! 
Working and waiting have robbed from the artist 
Ail that his marble can show for his pride. 

Statue-like sitting 

Alone, in the fitting 
And wind-haunted shadows that people her hearth. 

God protect all of us — 

God shelter all of us — 
From the reproach of such things on the eartht 



213 WORKING AND WAITING. 

All the day long, and all through the cold midnight. 

Still the" hot needles she wearily plies, 
Haggard and white as the ghost of a spurned one, 
Sewing white robes for the chosen one's eyes — 

Lost in her sorrow, 

But for the morrow 
Phantom-like speaking in every stitch. 

God protect all of us — 

God shelter all of us — 
From the curoe born with each- sigh for the rich ! 

Low biirns the lamp ! Fly swifter the needle ! 
Swifter thou asp for the breast of the poor! 
Else the pale light will be stolen by pity, 
Ere of the vital life thou hast made saie; 

Dying and living, 

All the night giving 
Barely the life that goes out with the thread. 

God protect all of us — 

God shelter all of us— 
From her last glance as she follows the dead. 

What if the morning finds her still bearing 

All the soul's load of a merciless lot? 
Fate will not lighten a grain of the burden, 
While the poor bearer by man is forgot; 

Sewing and sighing — 

Sewing and dying — 
What to such life is a day or two more? 

God protect all of us — 

God shelter all of us — 
From the new day's lease of woe to the poor. 

Hasten, ye winds ! and yield her the mercy 

Lying in sleep on your purified breath ; 
Yield her the mercy, eafolding a blessing, 
Yield her the mercy whose signet is death ; 

In her toil stopping, 

See her work dropping, 
Fate! thou art merciful! Life! thou art done! 

God protect all of us — 

God shelier all of us — 
From the heart-breaking, and yet living on! 

Winds that have smited her! tell ye the story 

Of the young life of the needle that bled ! 
Making its bridge over death's soundless waters 
Out of a swaying and soal-cutting thread. 
Over it going. 
All the world knowing. 



EARLY RISING. 213 

Thousaads have trod it, foot-bleeding before " 

God protect all of us — 

God slielter all of us — 
Should she look back from the opposite shore 1 



A FAVORITE OF FORTUNE. 

Gexeral Prim, the hero of the Spanish revolution, 
furnishes another illustration of greatness emerging 
from obscurity. Upon beginning his career he was 
third flute in the orciiestra of the theatre in the little 
town of Reus, and afterwards accepted the position of 
groom to the Swedish Countess Barck. His wife is 
said to be lineally descended from the Moutezumas, in 
whose "halls" the General himself' desired to revel, 
when the French troops first euterpd Mexico, but did 
not succeed in so doing, Marshal Bazaiue's views not 
coinciding with his own. From third flute, General 
Prim has risen to the baton, and this he may possibly 
make a sceptre. Quien sahe? 



EARLY RISING. 

"He who would thrive, must rise at five." So says 
the proverb, though there is more rhyme than reason 
in it ; for if 

He who would thrive, must rise at five 
it must naturally follow, 

He who would thrive more, must rise at four; 
and it will cause, as a consequence, that 

He who would still more thriving be, 
Must leave his bed at turn of three ; 
And who this latter would outdo, 
Will rouse himself at the stroke of two. 
And by way of climax to it all, it should be held that 
He who would never be outdone, 
Must ever rise as soon as one. 
But the best illustration would be. 

He who would flourish best of all, 
Should never go to bed at all. 



214 TOM toodle's facts relative to dogs. 



TOM TOODLE'S FACTS RELATIVETO DOGS 

The beauty of a fact is to have it a big one. I re- 
member that when my grandmother was a gal, facts 
■were big and folks were crazy for 'em ; but small f.icts: 
now-a-days, ain't of no account. I laid in for a supply 
of big ones when I wa-^ a boy, and though I have been 
dealing in facts eversence, I ain'.t out yet. 

When I was quite a youngster I useter live in 
Sneaksburg, and useter hunt i'oxes on Midrif moun- 
tain. I presume you all know where that is — it is a 
branch of the Hazleback range. It useter be a great 
place for fur-bearing critters. 

I had a dog remarkable for his swiftness and his 
toughness, but he was blind as a bat. He was so 
swift, that when I shot a fox, he would watch the 
bullet, and start just as soon as the bullet did, and 
catch the fox before tlie bullet possibly could. I usa- 
ter have to tie him up wlien 1 shot, for fear he would 
git ahead of the bullet, and git killed. 

My dog and me was aner a fox one day: my dog 
was putting in his best licks. I kept tight to his heels 
—for 1 was good on the foot them times — and as long 
as the dog was blind I did'ut dare to let him eo out of 
my sight, for fear he would get into some difficulty. 

But as I was saying, my dog and me was arter a 
fox, and my dog being blind run righc agin a big 
white link tree, about six foot through. They useter 
have big trees them times. I see liim when he run 
agin it, and 'sposed he was all smashed to pieces. But 
no! he went through the tree, slick and smooth, and 
made a hole through it about as big round as a gallon 
jug, and just as smooth as an auger hole; and what 
is tiie curiousest ])art of it, it didn't seem to hinder the 
dog a bit ; he kept right on the track as keen as ever! 

this fact was at the time called a big one, and thou- 
sands useter come to see the tree and the dog. It was 
curious it didn't kill the doi?, going through that solid 
white oak tree. But it killed the tree as dead as a 
hammer ; and I presume if it hadn't been for that it 
would er killed the dog. 

The dog died of old age, in his thirtieth year, but he 
was then to all appearances as young as a puppy 



CLOTHING. 215 



CLOTHING. 

The subject of clothing is understood well enough, 
and the rules of common sense are well enough ob- 
served by men. But woman is under the guidance of 
a higher law than any relating to her individual 
safety. 

"No woman that is a woman," says the late Pro- 
fessor Harris, " values her comfort, her health, or her 
life, in comparison with her personal appearance. She 
is impelled by a profound logic, i-ay rather a divine 
instinct. On the slender thread of her personal at- 
tractions hangs rhe very existence of a human future. 
The crinkle of a rinu-let, the tie of a ribbon, has swayed 
the wavering choice of a half-enamored swain, and 
given to the world a race which would never have 
come to the light of day but for the pinch of the cur- 
ling-tongs, or a turn of the milliner's fingers." 

It is in virtue of this supreme indifference to conse- 
quences—this sublime contempt ot disease and death. 
as compared with the loss of the smallest personal ad- 
vantage — that woman has attained the power of resist- 
ance to expo!<ure which so astonishes the male sex. 
Think of her thin shoes and stockings, her bare or 
scarcely protected neck and arms, her rose-leaf bon- 
net, by the side of the woollen socks, the layers of flan-! 
nel and broadcloth, and the warm hats and caps of her 
efiVminate companion ! Our cautions are of no use, 
except to the fragile sex— our brothers in. suscepti- 
bility and danger. 

"A mau will tell you he has the constitution of a 
horse ; but the health of a horse is notoriously deli- 
Eate, as Shakspeare reminds you. A wom^iu is com- 
pared to a bird by poets and lovers. It should be to a 
6•«o^«-bird," says the late ProJessor Harris. 

We may learn a lesson in the matter of clothing 
from the trainers and jockeys. They blanket their 
horses carefully after exercise. We come in heated, 
and throw off our outside clothing. Why should not 
a man be cared for as well as Flora Temple or Dexter? 
We dress for summer, and the next thing down goes 
the thermometer, and we run a risk which the owner 
of a trotting horse would not subject his beast to for a 
thousand dollars. 



216 A DILEMMA. 



A DILEMMA. 

A Touxa parson of the Universalist faith, many 
years since, when the Simon-pure Universalism was 
preached, started westward to attend a convention of 
his brethren in the faitli. He took the precaution to 
carry a pliial of Cayenne in 'his pocket, to sprinkle his 
food with as a preventive of fever and ague. The con- 
vention met, aud at dinner a tall Hoosier observed the 
parson as he seasoned his meat, and addressed him 
thus: 

" Sti-anger, I'll thank you for a little of that ere red 
salt, for I'm kind o' curious to try it." 

"Certainly," returned the parson, "but you will 
find it very powerful ; be careful how you use it." 

The Hoosier took the proffered phial, aud feeling 
himself proof against any quantity of raw whiskey, 
thought that he could staud the "red salt" with im- 
punity, and accordingly, sprinkled a junk of beef 
rather bountifully with it, and forthwiih introduced 
it into his capacious mouth. 

It soon began to take hold. He shut his eyes and 
his featur<es began to wiithe, denoting a very inhar- 
monious condition physically. Finally he could stand 
it no longer. He opened his mouth and screamed 
"Firel" 

"Take a drink of cold water from the jug," said 
the parson. 

"Will that put it out?" asked the martyr, suiting 
the action to the word. 

lu a short time the unfortunate man began to re- 
cover, aud turning to the parson, his eyes yet swim- 
ming in water, exclaimed: 

"btrauger, you call yourself a 'Varselist, I be- 
lieve?" 

" I do," mildly answered the parson. 

''Wall, I want to know if you think it consistent 
with your belief to go about with hell lire in your 
breeches pockets." 

THt fv ETAL-FOuNDLR OF MUNICH. 

Whkn \re gaze iu admiration at some great work of 
plas ic art, nur tlionglit^; naiiirally recur rather to the 
master miud whence the conception we now see real- 



THE METAL-FOUNDER OF MUNICH. 217 

ized first started into life, tliaa to any difficulties trliicli 
he or others might have had to ovevcome in making 
the quickened tliought a palpable and visible thing. 
All is 30 harmouiou- ; there is such unity throughou; ; 
material, form and dimensions, are so adapted and 
proportioned one to the other, that we think not of 
roughness or of opposing force as connected with a 
work whence all disparities are removed, and where 
every harshness is smoothed away. There stands the 
achieved fact in its perfect completeness: there is 
nothing to remind us of its progress toward that state, 
for the aids and appliances thereunto have been re- 
moved ; and the mind, not pausing to dwell on ati 
intermediate condition, at once takes in ihe realized 
creation as an accomplished whole. And if even some 
were inclined to follow in thought such a work in 
its growth, there are few among them who, as they 
look at a monument of bronze have any notion how 
the figure before them grew up into its preseat propor- 
tions. They have no idea how the limbs were formed 
.within their earthen womb, and how many and har- 
assing were the anxieties that attended on the gigan- 
tic birth. 

The sculptor, the painter, the engraver, has each, in 
his own department, peculiar difRculties to overcome ; 
but these for the most part are such as skill or manual 
dexterity will enable him to vanquish. He has not 
to do with a mighty power that opposes itself to his 
human strength and strives for the mastery. He has 
not to combat an element which he purposely rouses 
into fury, and then subjugates to his will. But the 
caster in metal has to do all this. He flings into the 
furnace heaps of brass — cannon upon cannon, as 
thuuLch they were leaden toys; and he lights a fire, 
and fans and feeds the flam'^s, till within that roaring 
hollow there is a glow surpassing what -wf have yet 
seen of fire, and growing white from very intensity. 
Anevr it is plied with fuel, fed, gorged. The fire itself 
seerns convulsed and agonized with its own efforts; 
but still it roars on. Day by day, and night after 
night, with not a moment's relaxation, is this fiery 
work carried on. The air is hot to breathe ; the walls, 
the rafters are scorched, and if the ordeal last much 
longer, all will soon be in a blaze. The goaded crea- 
ture becomes maddened and desiderate, and is striving 
to bitrst its prison ; while above it a molten meial sea, 
seething and fiery, is heaving with its ponderous 
weight against the caldron's sides. 

Lest it be thought this picture is too highly colored, 
or that. it owes anything to the imagination for its 



218 THE METAL-FOUNDER OF MUNICH. 

interest, let us look into the foundry of Munich, and 
see what was going on there at midnight on the 11th 
of October, 1S4.3. 

When King Louis I. had formed the resolution of 
erecting a colossal statue of Bavaria, it was Schwan- 
thaler whom he charged to execute the work. The 
great artist's conception responded to the idea which 
had grown in tlie mind of the king, and in tliree 
years time a model in clay was fdrii^d, sixty-three 
feet in height, the size of tlie fatnre hrouze statue 
The colossus was then delivei-ed over to the founder, 
to be CHSt in metal. The head was the first large por- 
tion that was expcnted. While the m^-tal was pre- 
paring for the cast, a presentiment filled the master's 
mind that, despite his exact reckoning, there might 
still be insufficient materials for the M'ork, and thirty 
hundred weight were added to the half liquid mass. 
The result proved how fortunate had been the fore- 
thought; nothiug could he more succes-ful And now 
the die t of tlie figure was to be cast, and the master 
conceived the bold ide i of forming it one piece. Those 
who have seen thirty or forty hundred weight of metal 
rushiuLrinto the mould below, have perhaps started 
back affrighted at the fiery stream. But four hundred 
hundred weight were I'equisite for this portion of the 
statue ; and the forniidable nature of the undertaking 
may be collected from ilie fact that till now n >t more 
than three hundred hundred weight had ever filled a 
furnace at one time. 

But see, the mass begins slowly to melt ; huge pieces 
of cannon float on the surface, like boats on water, 
and then gradually disappear. ^ Presently upon the 
top of the mass a crust is seen to form, thre;itening 
danger to the furnace as well as to the model prepared 
to receive the fluid bronze. To prevent this crust 
from forming, six men were employed day and night 
in stirring the lava-like sea with long poles of iron ; re- 
tiring, and being replaced by others every now aud 
then ; for the scorching heat, in spite of wetted cover- 
ings, causes the skin to crack like the dried rind of a 
tree. Still the caldron was being stirred, still the fire 
was goaded to new efforts, but the metal was not yet 
ready to be allowed to flow. Hour after hour went by, 
the day passed, and nij:ht came on. For five days 
and four nights the fire had been kept up aud urged 
to the utmost iniensity, and still no one could tell how 
long this was yet to last. The men worked on at their 
tremendous task in silence; the fearful heat was in- 
creasing, and as though it would never stop. There 
■was a terrible weight in. the burning air, aud it pressed 



THE METAL-FOUNDER OF MUNICH. 219 

dpon the breasts of all. There was anxiety in tbeir 
hearts, ihough. they spoke not, but most of ail in Lis 
■who had direcied this bold undertaking. For five 
days he had not left the spot, but, like a Columbus 
watching for the hoiivly-expected land, had awaited 
the final moment. On the evening of the fifth day ex- 
hausted nature demanded repose, and he sat down to 
sleep. Hardly had he closed his eyes, whfn his wife 
roused him with the appalling cry, "Awake, awake, 
the foundry is on fire!" And it was so. Nothing 
could stand such terrific heat. The rafters of the 
building began to burn. To quench the fire in the 
usual way was impossible, for had any cold fluid 
come in contact with the liquid metal, the consequen- 
ces would have been frightful ; the furnace would 
have been destroyed, and the four hundred hundred 
wel,'ht of bronz^3 lost. With wet cloths, therefore, 
the burning rafters were covered to smother the flames. 
But the walls were glowing, too ; the whole building 
was now like a vast furnace. Yet still more fuel ou 
the fire! the heat is not enough; the metal boils not 
yet! Though the rafters burn, and the walls glow, 
still feed, and gorge, and goad the fire. 

At last the moment comes ! — the whole mass is boil- 
ing! Then the metal founder of Munich, Miller by 
name, called to the men who were extinguishing the 
burning beams, "Let them burn; the metal is ready 
for the cast!" And it was just midnight, when the 
whole of the rafters of the interior of the building were 
in flames, that the plug was knocked in, and the fiery 
flood rushed out into the mould below. 

All now breathed more freely ; there was an end of 
misgiving and forboding; and the rude workmen, as 
if awe-struck by what they had accomplished, stood 
gazing in silence, and listening to the )oar of the bra- 
zen cataract. It was not till the cast was completed 
that the master gave the sig-nal for extinguishing the 
burning roof. 

In due time the bell of the little chapel of Neuhansen 
was heard summoning thither the master and his 
workmen to thank God for the happy completion of the 
■work No accident had occurred to any during its 
progress; not one had safi'ered either in life or limb. 



220 THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILT. 



THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILY. 

A Star looked down at even 

Where earth in her beauty slept, 
And uverher breast, like a blessing given, 

The breath of the night-breeze crept, 
And light shone out from the perfect heaven, 

And smiled where the dewdrops wept. 

The star sent down a ray, 

A bright, uncertain beam, 
That fled from heaven, away, away, 

And fell in a glassy stream — 
And the star gazed there where its image lay, 

Oh, dim as a distant dream. 

Its lover-star was bright. 

And its kin beyond compare, 
But it turned its face from their nearer light, 

To the streamlet that seemed so fair, 
And dreamed and dreamed through the long, long 
night 

On its image reflected there ; 

Till the beauty erst it had 

Paled out frum the skies above, 
And its pure star-lover, erewhiie so glad, 

With a kindred sorrow strove ; 
For he saw that its heart grew sick and sad 

With the weight of an earthly love. 

And he said—" The stream is cle3.r, 

But clearer thy native sky ;" 
And he sighed— " That image seems fair and near, 

But thy star-love is yet more nigh ;" 
He wept — " Oh, live in thy beauty here, 

Nor look upon earth — to die!" 

Alas ! — for it would not mark, 

But turned with a weary woe, 
And fainter, fainter, a trembling spark 

It hung o'er the depths below — 
Then fell — and its place in the heaven was dark 

By the spirit that loved it so. 

But ever at night, from the cold, wet wave, 

It looked to the skies afar, 
To gaze on the light that the heaven gave, 

And mourn for its lover-star — 
For the stars tliat fall to an earthly grave 

The souls of the lilies are. 



LOSS AND LUCK. 221 



LOSS AND LUCK; Or, The Master-Passion. 

'■''No, Lacordaire, I won't play this evening. My 
losses of lace have been rather heavy, and— lo tell 
you cne truth, Marquis, I've given up cards alto- 
gether." 

Julien Lacordaire, Marquis de B , stared In- 
credulously, as these words were uttered, at his 
friend, the Viscount Lucieu Champsey. They had 
met on the crowded thoroughfare of the Boulevard 
des Italiens, in Paris, and as the hour, (nine o'clock 
in tlie evening) was the one at whicii tbese young 
men often adjourned to their club, the Marquis had 
offered to accompaay Lucien thither. 

"Are you serious?" asked the former, when sur- 
prise at his friend's announcemeac allowed of his re- 
plying to it. " Do you positively mean that cards are 
to be henceforth abandoned by one in whom I be- 
lieved the " 

Julien hesitated. 

"By one in whom you believed the vice of play to 
be an unconquerable passion!" finished Lucien 
Champsey, with a smile. "Say what you mean. 
Marquis. The resolution is made, the oath of renun- 
ciation is sworn. Expect to see very little of me at 
the club in future, for I do not intend to place myself 
voluntarily in the tempter's path. And now, good 
evening ; i have an engagemeut of great importance, 
which there is little time for me to meet before the 
hour appointed." 

In a few moments the young men separated, and 
Lucien Champsey made his way with all 'possible 
speed to the hotel of his uncle, the Count Grandiuot, a 
superb dwelling situated at a short distance from the 
Eue Eivoli. 

The story of Lucien's life may be told in a few 
words. Left at the age of nineteen in the possession 
of a moderate fortune, he had found himself, at twen- 
ty-five, embarrassed by gambling debts, almost to the 
extent of utter ruin, aad (no less unhappy circum- 
stance) hopelessly in love to the verge of dist action. 
The cause of this latter misfortune was his cousin, 
Audree Grandinot, whose proud and wealthy father 
had begun to suspect Lucien's attachment, and to 
frown darkly upon his daughter's reciprocation of it. 
As yet, however, the old Count had neither forbidden 
his nephew from visiting Andree, nor announced his 



223 LOSS AND LUCK. 

inteation of marryiag the young lady to a certaia 
rather aged member of the new nobility, who had 
lately asked her haad. But, on this very evening of 
which we write, the lovers were destined to receive 
toth pieces of intelligeace verbally and decisively 
from the Count himself. 

Lucien, Avhose call at the ITotel Grandinot was paid 
to-niglit upon his cousin, had not long Cd wait, in the 
elegautly-tarnished drawing-room in wliich he was 
shown, before Andr^e made lier appearance. 

A more charming type of bb^nde beauty tlian Andree 
Grandinot represented it would have been dilticult to 
find in all Paris. The soft eyes, that looked out from 
beneath their golden floss of lashes, were blue, lus- 
trous, and full of soul; the hair, which rippled, like 
a Madonna's of Eaphael, on eitlier side of her fair 
forehead, gleamed as if some subtle light were forever 
tangled and enmeshed among its silky threads. She 
was a woman of surpassing beauty, and tlie grace of 
her every motion, the liquid melody of her voice in 
speaking, corresponded with this physical loveliness. 
It is not a matter of wonder that Lucien availed him- 
self of a cousin's privilege on this particular evening, 
and, advancing to meet her as she entered the draw- 
ing-room, imprinted a warm kiss on Andree's tempt- 
ing mouth. 

"How about your oath, cousin?" she asked, 
blushing a little at Lucien's ardent greeting. " Have 
you kept it ?" 

"Scrupulously, Andree I have not touched a cai'd 
for two days, and do not intend breaking my re- 
solve." 

" I am so glad, Lucien."' Somehow her dimpled, 
satin-soft hand found its way to liis. " Do you know 
I have been unjust enoUi^U all yesterday and to-day 
10 doubt your laith ; but you will forgive me this 
time, I am sure." 

As Andree finished speaking a step was heard in 
the outside hall, and a momeut later Riymond 
de Grandinot, Audree's father, entered the apart- 
ment. 

Lucien advanced to greet the Count, but he drew 
himself haughtily away from the young man's prof- 
ferred salutation, and said, sternly: 

"I feel, Lucien Champsey, that it has become my 
disagreeable duty to forbid, in the future, your visits 
to this house. It has lately reached my ears that you 
have, on several occasions, professed openly an at- 
tachment for your cousin Andree, of which the rela- 
tionship existing between you and that youDj.' lady 



LOSS AND LUCK. 233 

does not afford a sufBcient explanation. My daiicrh- 
ter possibly returns your love. I will say plainly, 
that were it not knowa to me how recklessly you 
have squandered the fortune which, six years ago, 
you inherited, a union between my daughter and my 
nephew would be far from distasteful. But at pres- 
ent all thought of such union must be resigned by 
both Aadrtse aud yourself. It must never be said that 
the child of Raymond de Grandinot married a roue 
aud a gamester." 

The reader may easily imagine what followed. 
There were tears and heart-broken words from An- 
dree ; there were a few fiery sentences from the lips 
of Lucien Champsey, followed by a brief, hurried 
farewell of his cousin ; and five minutes afterward he 
had left the Hotel Grandinot and was walking aim- 
lessly, wildly, through the gay-illumined streets of 
Paris. 

Many another man, over whom the fascinatioos of 
gambling possessed as strong a hold as over Lucien, 
would have yielded tathem as a palliative to the tor- 
ments of disappointment, which, for weeks after the 
events of that evening, agonized both his heart and 
brain. But the promise he had given to Andree re- 
mained unviolated ; and those wlio had known him 
in the careless Parisian circles that his pleasant face 
and agreeable company once adorned, finally con- 
cluded that their quondam associate had renounced 
the frivolities of life, aud, after the world's well- 
known fashion, forgot him altogether. 

But Lucien, having managed to save from the 
wr^ck of his fortune a sufficient competence where- 
with to maintain himself respectably, was filled with 
a single idea — that of one day becoming rich enough 
to claim the hand of his cousin. It was, however, an 
idea alone, with no practical stimulus to further its 
accomplishment. Eagerly, intensely as he desired 
to obtain wealth, the false methods of his aristocratic 
education and the languid, negligent life which he 
had lived from boyhood, unfitted him for anything 
that resembled positive etfn-t or -evere exerliuu. He 
built golden castles aud dreamed mercenary dreams 
ad lihitum, but he performed no labor, carried out no 
definite plan. During the space of a year, his exist- 
ence passed mostly in Paris and occasionally at the 
German Spas, where he was fond of watching the 
games of chance in which he had once so recklessly 
participated, was melancholy, devoid of purpose, and 
extremely miserable. 

On a certain evening daring a visit of his to Baden, 



224 LOSS AND LUCK. 

Lucien returned from one of the principal salons in 
the place with feelings of unu.sual trloom aud dejec- 
tion. The time at which he entered his lodirinus was 
remarkably early, considering the late hours in 
-which, from long habit, he ordinarily indulged. 
Seated at the window of his apartment — it was early 
June, and the soft air blew from the starlit streets 
without — Lucien's reflections were somewhat of this 
nature: 

" To-morrow I shall qiiit Baden. This watching 
of the games in the salons does me no good. To- 
night I was on the verge of flinging my resolution to 
the winds and forgetting the promise I made to Au- 
dree. And she — has not she perhnps forgotten the 
love which prompted her to require this oath ? Am I 
sure that she is yet constant? Ah, Lucien Champ- 
sey, do not begin the invention of foolish excuses to 
justify the breaking of your promise! If Audrey's 
love be weak, let your honor remain strong. I am 
decided upon qiiitting Baden to-morrow. The return 
of the season may bring with it a score of my old as- 
sociates — Lacordaire among the rest. Did not the old 

Countess B tell me yesterday that Julieu had 

engaged apartments in this very building ? Once 
more, then, I repeat to myself, ' Quit Baden to-mor- 
row.' " 

His resolve made, Lucien arose from his seat by the 
window, and, in order that his departure for Paris 
might take place at an early hour on the following 
morning, retired for the night. 

When he awoke, after a perfectly dreamless and 
uninterrupted sleep, the sun was shining brightly in 
his chamber. Rising, a glance at his watth assured 
him that there was ample time to catch the first train 
for Paris. His toilet performed and his portman- 
teau hastily packed, Lucien happened to fix his eyes 
on the small table that stood by the bed. A handker- 
chief wrapped about some bulky material was resting 
there, unnoticed till now. 

•• Careless," he muttered, approaching the bundle. 
"I have forg')tteu to pack the linen which the laun- 
dress probably brought here last evening duiing my 
absence. What right has a poor man to be so regard- 
less of trifles?" 

But as Lucien unclosed the handkerchief, which 
was knotted tightly about its contents, a sight met 
liiis astonished gaze which he will ever remember — a 
sight that for a moment dazzled, confounded and stu- 
pefied him with amazement. 

The handkerchief contained what seemed an al- 



\ 



LOSS AKD LUCK. 



9P.^ 



most incalculable sum, in bank notes and golden 
iouis d"or! 

Was he awake or dreaming? Lucien actually 
rubbed his eyes to seule this apparently vexed 
question. 

it was no dream. The bank notes were substantial 
paper, the Iouis d'or genuine meta,!. 

What mystery was this ? He now remembered 
that, having dined yesterday with the Countess 

B , and having been absent from his chamber 

during the whole afternoon, he had locked his door 
aud taken the key with him ; at night he had done 
the same, expecting to remain away from the hotel 
longer than he really did. How, then, had this money 
louudits way into tne apartment, setting aside tlie in- 
explicable motive that could have induced any one to 
place it there? He had slept not, only with his door 
locked, but bolted also, as its present coaditiou proved. 
Had the good-natured eives of whom he had read so 
often in German legend visited upon him, while sleep- 
ing, one of their benevolent miracles ? 

Finally, abandoning all conjecture relating to the 
origin of this money as useless in the extreme, Lucien 
did a very natural thing under the circumstances— he 
fell to counting it. 

The sum amounted, all told, to no less tban twenty 
thousand Iouis ! 

For the first time since his discovery the thought of 
actually becoming rich through the agency of this 
apparent miracle caused Lucieus heart to tnrob fast 
With emotions of delight. 

" Can it be possible," he exclaimed, "that Heaven 
has rewarded the faithful preservation of my oath to 
Andree ; and at a time, too, when I was almost on the 
point of breaking it ?" 

The words had not left Ms lips before two sharp 
knocks sounded at the door. Concealing the money 
in the handkerchief, Lucien went to answer the sum- 
mons. 

His surprise was great on finding that his visitor 
was no less a person than Julien Lacordaire. 

The Marquis wore upon his usually good-natured 
face an expression of digaity and pride. Without 
noticing the hand of welcome which Lucien extend- 
ed, he walked past him and seated himself at the 
further end of the chamber. Then, before Lucien had 
the opportunity to ask an explanation of his singular 
conduce, Lacordaire began : 

"1 have come, De Champsey, at the request of 
Rochefort and D'Aubray, to seek of you some stated 

15 



226 LOSS AND LUCK. 

reason for your behavior last night. The direct cut 
■which you gave all three of us whea we approached 
for the purpose of shaking hands with yoa " 

"My dear Marquis," interrupted Lucien, " I ara at 
a loss to uuderscand your meaning. Oa no occasion 
since my stay in Baden have I met either yourself, 
Kocheiort or B'Aubray. This i.-i undoubtedly some 
absurd mistake — some ridiculous confusion of iden- 
tity." 

" You deny having met us at the Salon last 

evening !" cried Lacordaire, starting to his feet. 

"Positively," answered Lucien, '"I deny it." 

** lieally, Viscount, this audacity confounds me." 

"You mean, monsieur, to doubt my word?" Lu- 
cien's blood was rising. 

" Doubt your word !" retorted the Marquis, with a 
satirical smile. " Can I believe it against the evi- 
dence of my own senses?" 

Lucien controlled himself and said, as calmly as he 
was able; 

" Will you oblige me, Marquis, by stating under 
wnat circumstances this meeting took place?" 

" Willingly," was Lacordaire's reply. "The place 
was, as I have said, the Salon, '^' 

"The hour?" 

" Half-past eleven." 

"Impossible!" exclaimed Lucien ; "at that hour I 
was in bed and asleep." 

The Marquis walked toward the window, probably 
to conceal his rage at what seemed to him the most 
audacious of falsehoods. 

" Continue, Marquis," said Lucien. " Can you in- 
form me how /was dressed at the time of this meet- 
ing?" 

"Precisely," replied Lacordaire, "in the same 
clothes which you now have on. But pshaw!" he 
cried, interrupting himself. "How could, you have 
forgotten? A man does not break the bank at rouge 
et woir without remembering it for the rest of his 
lifetime. Allow me, monsieur, to congratulate you 
upon the acquisition of twenty thousand louis — such, 
I believe, were your enormous winnings last n'.glit — 
and to take my departure. Henceforth our acquaint- 
ance will terminate, as you seem to desire." 

The Marquis moved toward the door. Lucien 
sprang forward and seized his arm. 

"For Heaven's ^^ake, Lacordaire, tell me that I am 
ni't mad or dreaming. You have mentioned Che sum 
of tvrviii.y thousand ioais—the ve.y amount which I 



LOSS AND LUCK. 227 

found yonder in the handkerchief upon mj table 
when I awoke tliis morning!" 

" There is nothing strange in this," said the Mar- 
quis, " nor can I understand your agitation. It is 
tue exact sum of money which, hy ihe most extraor- 
diuaiy ran of luck 1 iiave ever witnessed, you m.ide 
last e^eaing." 

" Bat I swear to you by our old friendship, by eve- 
rything sacred, that for a year past I have not 
touched a card, or staked a single sou upon any game 
of chance." 

" My dear fellow," exclaimed the Marquis, his fac>^ 
brightening after a moment's reflection, " I under- 
stand it all now ; the mystery is explained! Do you 
remember," he went on, "the visit we paid, two 
years ago, to my chateau in Brittany? Can you re- 
call our heavy games of eca?-ie on one especial even- 
ing ? Have you forgotten how I was awakened by a 
noise in the chamber adjoining mine — the one which 
you occupied — aI four o'clock in the morning, several 
hours after we had both retired for the night? Well, 
Lucien, what did I find there ? Was it not yourselt, 
seated at the same table which we had lately quitted, 
playing ecarte with an imaginary partner? And 
when 1 spoke to yon no notice was taken of iny words ; 
yoi'- were sound asleep, Lucien. Have yon forgotten 
ail this?" 

"You mean " stammered Lucien, in a bewild- 
ered way. 

'' i mean that you were in the same somnambulistic 
condition last night, beyond a doubt, my friend. The 
m-ister-passion, against which you struggled success- 
fully in your waking hours, gained the victory over 
you in sleep. There are stranger instances on record 
coucerning sleep-walkers than even this my dear IjU- 
cien ; bat the marvellous luck which attended your 
play last nii^ht makes the whole affiir difficult of 
credence. Were it not for my experience of your 
somnambulism at the chateau, I, for one, would 
doubt the matter strongly, I assure you." 

Two weeks later an interview took place at the 
Hotel Grandinot, in Paris, between Lucien Cbampsey 
and his uncle. The words of the old Count, at its 
conclusion, are all that it will be necessary to repeat: 

" I am satislieii, Lucien,' he said, warmly pressing 
his nephew's hand, "that you have now fairly relin- 
quished your life of dissipation and folly. As for the 
almost incredible accident by which three-quarters of 
your forcaaebave beea restoied to you, 1 can only 



238 THE DESERTED HUT. 

congratulate you upon such umarallelpd good Inck, 
and give my coaseiu to the marriage between Andree 
and my nephew, i find that her love is deeper and 
more sincere than I at first believed; this separation 
has filled Acdree's spirits with a gloom and melan- 
choly that threatens seriously to impair her health. 
It is useless for me to hold out longer — and, indeed, 
Lucien, I feel that your reformation of life merits, as 
its reward, the hand of your cousin." 

Not long afier this reconciliation betweenuncle and 
nephew a brilliant wedding reception took place at 
the Hotel Grandinot. 

At present, with the exception of an occasional visit 
to Paris during the wiucer months, the Viscount de 
Champsey and his beautiful young wife pass their 
days at a chateau in Normandy, which constituted a 
part of Andree's bridal dower. Eumor says that 
they are a model of conjugal happiness ; and if the 
■world speaks correctly in this matter, we must agreg 
that the old proverb, "Lucky at cards, unlucky in 
love," is not always to be considered an infallible 
axiom. 



THE DESERTED HUT, AND WHAT I 
SAW TH_RE, 

T WAS lost, there could no lonser he a doubt upon 
the subject. The forest road, which I had been fol- 
lowing for the last hour, suddenly terminated in a 
tangled swamp; and the last rays of the s in were 
slowly gliding from the topmost twigs of the gloomy 
evergreens surrounding it. 

I bitterly repented my own foolishness in rejecting 
the advice of mine host of the preceding night, who 
had advised me to wait until the following day, when 
his son would pilot me through the forest I was 
forced to traverse, and when, beside, my poor horse 
might have sufficiently recovered from his fatigue to 
be able to proceed. 

The situation was serious. The season was so far 
advanced as to render the prospect of a night beneath 
the open sky disagreeable, if not absolutely danger- 
ous ; and among the animals above-mentioned were 
a plentiful sprinkle of wolves, catamounts, and bears, 
with an occasional panther, as formidable an oppo- 
nent, when enraged, as its congener of the Indian 
jungle. 

All at once I perceived, through the gathering 



THE DESERTED HTJT. 229 

floom, tne approach of some moving object, which a 
brief scrutiay convinced me was a feniale form, 
clothed in light, fluttering garments. I hastened 
towards her, shouting and waving my hand. To my 
great surprise, she neither paused nor even turned 
her head, although I was quite sure that she must 
have heard me, as the distance was not more than tive 
or six rods, 

"She must be deaf," muttered I, and attempted ta 
run, in order to overtake her, but I found the under- 
brush so dense, aad tangled with vines, as to render 
haste impossible. " How the deuce does she get on so 
fast?" asked I, peevishly, as I found the attempt to 
diminish the distance between myself and the woman 
entirely useless. 

I hastened on as rapidly as possible, always keeping 
the fluttei-ing garments of my guide in view, until we 
suddenly emerged from the forest into a small clearing 
with a cabin in its midst. 

"Thank heaven !" said I aloud. " Here is actually 
a house, and my deaf companion has probably already 
entered, as she is nowhere in sight. I hope she may 
prove more hospitable than she is quick at hearing." 

Judge then of my surprise, when, on arriving' in 
front of the cabin, I discovered it to be an uninhabited 
ruin, without door or window, or any sign of recent 
occupancy. 

I entered, and looked about me. Upon the hearth 
a little heap of pallid ashes showed wnere a fire ha,d 
been ; and beside it still stood a low rocking-chair ; 
that must once have been the familiar seat of the 
woman who had called this deserted hut her home. 
A bed, a table, and a few coarse articles of household 
use stood about ; but all were weather-stained, covered 
with mould and dust, and dropping with decay. I 
looked about me with a shudder, and hastily retreated 
to the open air. 

But the woman who had led me hither! Where 
was she? I peered earnestly into the forest, where 
now the night shadows gathered dense and ciose, and 
seemed creeping out on every side to invade the little 
clearing, and make headquarters of the deserted hut. 
Except the shadows, nothing was to be seen, although 
far in the wood something like a light garment seemed 
flitting from one deuse thicket to another ; or it might 
have been but the waving of the poplar leaves, or tt^a 
swaying branches of the silver birch. 

Cleiu-ly I must remain in the hut for the night ; and 
I fought hard to convince myself that the repugnance 
I felt to so doing was but an unreasonable whim, 
unworthy of the least attention. 



4W THE DESERTED HUT. , 

*' No, I will stay here, aud I will make myself very 
comfortable, and even jolly, ia spite of all the pre- 
rontiments and will-o'-the-wisps in creation," said I, 
aloud, and throwing my knap'^ack upon the mouldy 
bed, I looked about me for che materials of a fire. 
Kindliag-stuff was soon obtained from some of the old 
chairs ; and having broken one of them into suitable 
fragments, I went out, and soon collected a sufficient 
supply of branches and dead wood to keep a good fire 
all night. 

As 1 returned toward the house, with my burden in 
my arms, 1 mechanically raised my eyes, aud started 
so violently as to aearly throw down my whole load. 

In the doorway of the cabin, looking earnestly 
towards me, stood the figure of the woman, in her 
light fluttering dress, her pale and b^-autifnl face 
distinctly visible against the dark backgioand of the 
interior. 

" This, at least, is no delusion," thought I, and keep- 
ing my eyes sieadily fixed upon the figure, I slowiy 
approached the house, my forgotten faggot of wood 
closely clasped in my arms. 

I had traversed perhaps half the distance, and was 
within two rods of the house, when the woman, 
whose eyes I could now plainly feel fixed upon my 
own w.th a mournful earnestness, slowly reti'eated 
backward into the house. Never removiug my gaze 
from the doorway, 1 hurried on, and entered not a 
moment after. 

The place was as bare, as lonely, as utterly unten- 
anted, as when I first set foot in it. 

A heavy shudder ran through my frame, and the 
first impulse was to turn and fly to the wood, to the 
night — anywhere, away from this mystery, this 
mocking delusion. The next moment, however, a 
dogged determination to see the end of the afi'air seized 
upon me. I felt all my courage revive, mingled with 
a sort of angry contempt, both of myself aud the un- 
known agent of my discomfiture. 

" If it is some one trying to frighten me, he or she 
will find it is not such an easy matter ; and if it is " 

So far I spoke, aud then my voice died away ; for, 
as truly as 1 breathe and speak this moment, I felt a 
cold, soft hand s<ently laid across my mouth, as if to 
arrest the words already formed upon my lips. I 
stagu'ered backward, but the next instant sprang for- 
ward, with both arms extended, and grasping for 
some substance in the direction whence the hand had 
seemed to come. They euc )uutered nothing \at the 
empty air; and, indeed my own eyes sufiSciently 



4 



» THE DESERTED HUT. 831 

showed me that I was alone in the place. For a mo- 
ment I stood as stupefied : but in the next I recovered 
myself, and proceeded in the line of action upon which, 
I had previously resolved. 

The heavy door of the cabin still lay upon the floor, 
where it had apparently fallen when time and damp 
had eaten through its hinges. This I raised into its 
place, and secured it there^by dragging a high-backed 
settle across it. Next I. closed the window, by hang- 
ing one of the bed coverings upon two nails, driven 
into the logs just above it, aud securing it at the 
bottom by setting an old chest upon the end which 
lay upon the floor. Next I minutely examined the 
walls by the light of a pine torch, selected from 
amoijg my supply of fuel, and kindled with the aid of 
some dried leaves and my pocket match-box. With this 
torch I minutely examined the interior of the cabin in 
every direction. Nothing cauld be simpler in its con- 
struction. Above, the roof, formed of pine saplings, 
covered with bark; below was a floor of hard-beaten 
earth ; around tlie sides, four w ills of logs, whole on 
three sides, and on the fourth pierced by the door and 
a small square window. Opposite the door, the fire- 
place, where already a meny blaze curling up the 
chimney, closed that means either of entrance or 
egress. Clearly nothing could now enter or leave the 
cabin without my knowledge; and, if it were any- 
thing human, not without my consent. 

As this thought defiantly sliaped itself into my mind 
a heavy sigh, close behind me, seemed to reply, and 
a breath of ice-cold air swept my cheek. I turned 
puddenly, and not only searcied with my eyes 
through every corner of the now brilliantly-lighted 
cabin, but swept the air with my extended arms, in 
every direction. Nothing, nothing, either for sight 
or touch to seize upon; and again I shivered and 
slunk nearer to my fire, that most human and most 
sympathetic with men of all the elements. I sat be- 
side my fire then, and the fire renewed my coui-age, 
and my proud incredulity of danger. 

" Sigh, now ; put your hand upon my mouth ; look 
at me with your great mournful dark eyes, or wave 
your white hand! I do not care —I am not afiaid. 
This house is mine to-night, and you shall not drive 
me from it," cried I, aloud, and looked defiantly about 
me. 

Was it the wind, sweeping about the deserted hut 
— was it the blaze, crackling in the chimney — was it 
the rising storm, exulting in its mad glee? Hoitvea 
knows, not I ; but no sound was plainer to me thaa 



333 THE DESERTED HUT. 

the shout of derisive laughter which seemed to peal 
from a man's deep lungs, just outside the curtained 
■window, and then die away in the sweep of the 
stormy wind. 

1 scarced to my feet, rushed to the window, and, 
tearing away the curtain, thrust my head and half 
my body out at the opening As I did so, a flash of 
lightning spread through the heavens, throwing a 
vivid and ghastly light over the whole scene. I 
swept the clearing with a piercing gaze. Absolutely 
nothing — nothing but the broAvn grass, the stunted 
bushes, the forest tossing its myriad arms wildly 
against the ink-black sky. Above, the thunder pealed 
ominous as the war-cry of the infernal powers, whom 
I now believe let loose upon me. 

"Heaven help me!'' muttered I, at last, and care- 
fully readjusted the curtain; but had hardly done so, 
when around the edge of it crept tlie tips of four 
slender, white fingers, which drew it gently aside, 
until, tearing from its hold at the top, it dropped, 
showing me — framed in the window opening, and 
thrown forward from the black night behind.her — the 
figure of the woman, her dark hair, swept by the 
storm, about her pallid face, her dark eyes fixed 
mournfully upon my own. 

With a final effort I sprang forward and grasped at 
the hand still holding the edge of the curtain. For an 
instant I felt it — a woman's cold, ice-cold hand, 
clasped, within my own — but the next it was gone ; 
not withdrawn, but melting within my grasp, as if 
suddenly resolved to the elements. At the same 
moment the figure disappeared — when, how, or by 
what process, I know not. 

It was gone; and, half mechanically, I applied 
myself to replacing the curtain, which I did not ac- 
complish without difliculty, for my right band, which 
had grasped that of the apparition, as .1 now con- 
sented to call it, was numb, cold, and nearly useless. 

Seating myself once more beside the fire, I took from 
my knapsack a flask of brandy and some food, for I 
was faint with exhaustion and emotion. I ate my 
supper, not with relish, but yet with a certain satis- 
faction ; and the flask of brandy 1 drained to the last 
drop. 

Then I arranged my knapsack as a pillow, piled my 
heaviest logs upon the fire, stretched myself belore it, 
and while listening to the wild roar of the storm, I 
fell into a heavy sleep. How long this lasted lean- 
not tell, but I was awakened by a sense of intolerable 
cold. It seemed as if the blood had frozen in my 



* THE DESERTED HUT. 233 

veins, my heart had ceased to beat, and all animatiou 
was suspended, save just sufflcieut to allow me to re- 
alize that I was suffering excessively. 

My first conscious emotion was surprise at this ter- 
rible chill, for the fire still barned fiercely, and I lay 
not six feet distant from it. But the next moment I 
became conscious that I was not al<>ne. A souad of 
whispering voices behind me, and the light rustle of a 
woman's garments were plainly audible, and I slowly 
tamed my head towards the sound. 

There she stood, pale and beautiful, as I had before 
seen her, but with a look of intense love in the great 
eyes, now uplifted to the face of a young man, around 
whose neck her arms were tightly clasped, while his 
head was bent so closely over hers as quite to conceal 
his features. They seemed in the act of leave-taking, 
and the passionate embrace and kiss which I had sur- 
prised, Wis not yet done when the door flew violently 
open, and a tall, middle-aged man, in hunter's dress, 
carrying a ritie, and followed by a hound, enceied 
the hat. 

In an instant all was confusion. A pleicing shriek 
from the lips ot the woman rang through the place ; 
her lover sought iu hs bosom for an instant, and then, 
obeying the gestures and frantic cries of the woman, 
he fled precipitately into the night, pursued by the 
dog. The hunter uttered a horrible carse, and would 
have started in pursuit, bat the woman had already 
closed the door, and now stood against it, her face set 
in a sort of terrified defiance, as she raised it to the 
fierce wrath of the hunter, wlio stood gazing at her a 
moment, with a frightful expression of rage, despair, 
and love upon his rugged features ; and then drawing 
his hunting-knife from his belt, slowly approached, 
and holding it upraised a moment, looked down into 
her eyes which looked as steadily up to his. 

The hunter slowly raised his right hand still higher, 
and while the dilated eyes of the unresisting victim 
steadily watched its movement, the blade fla-hed in a 
sudden descending carve, and was sheathed within 
her heart. 

The blow was followed by a short, easping cry, 
not of terror, but of bodily anguish ; and as the mur- 
derer withdrew his weapon, the body fell heavily to 
the ground, where it lay, with the wide-open black 
eyes staring np a dumb accusation, and the bright 
blood welling out and creeping slowly on in a little 
stream, until it reached and bathed the murderer's 
feet. He stood quite still, leaning on hi- r fle, and 
looking dowuai his vvoiii— not carexesoly or aavagtily. 



234 THE DESERTED HUT. 

but with tlie air of a man who feels that he has taken 
a terrible j u^tlce into his own hands, aud that his con- 
science Hcquits him of blame in the matter. 

He still stood thus, and the life-blood of the beauti- 
ful woman whom he had slain lay a great red pool 
about his feet, when from the forest, without was 
heard the voice of the gi"eat hound in furious outcry, 
mingled with the strangled cries and shouts of a 
man. The hunter listened for a moment and smiled 
grimly. 

" Venom has him, and won't leave him while there 
in life," muttered he. 

The human cries grew weaker, those of the brute 
fiercer, until of a sudden both stopped ; and, after an 
interval, a long, melancholy howl from the hound 
seemed to announce, and at the same time lament, his 
victory. 

"He's dead," whispered the hunter; and a sadden 
tremor seized and showk his heavy frame. 

Staggering to a seat, he leaned nis elbows upon his 
knees, and covered his face with both hands, while 
from his broad chest broke a storm of tt-rrible sobs. 

The emotion of the man exhausted itself at last, or 
rather changed its demonstrations. He rose and went, 
with leeble steps, to kneel beside the terrible calm ac- 
cuser, whose fixed eyes seemed to dwell forever upon 
his own. He tried to close them, but the stiS'ened lids 
refused to move. He smoothed the long, dark hair, 
he kissed the pale, still lips, he folded the hands upon 
the breast, aud decently composed the limbs to rest. 
Kneeling there beside the dead, when all was done, 
and looking steadfastly down into the calm face, 
which looked as steadfastly back to his, it seemed to 
me that this man, at once so terribly injured aud so 
terribly avenged, went over in his mind the history 
of his life; and as the events chronicled themselves 
in his memory, by some subtle process of sympathetic 
communication, they chronicled themselves in my 
consciousness, and there remained, when all was 
over, a clear and connected history, whose end lay at 
that moment before my eyes. 

I knew, as if I had been told, that this hunter, a 
lonely and gloomy man, had set his strong heart upon 
the woman who now lay dead before him, then a fresh 
and innocent girl iu her father's distant home ; th:it he 
had won her, half reluctant, and all untried in life or 
love as she was, at her father's hand, and had brought 
her here to the wilderness, where his lonely and SdV- 
age tastes had led him to live. I knew that she 
had pined for home, for the gayety of her young 



THE DESERTED HUT. 235 

companions, for the free and joyous life of her girlhood, 
noc yet passed away ; that she had grown ac last to 
lear and shun, as far as she might, the stern and sileut 
man whom she had manned ; and she shed, in secret, 
many a tear, until at last the beauty, that at first had 
glowed ia the dusky cabiu like the richest blossom of 
the summer time, waned and paled, until it was but 
th^it of the lily drooping upon its stem, and fading 
before it.s time. 

Then came the gay young kinsm?.n of the bride, 
wto, on his returu from a distant voyage, misspd 
the pretty playmate of his boyhood — the half hoped- 
for bride" of his manhood ; and nothing coul.i please 
or satisfy him until he had seen her sweet fcce once 
more, and made sure that she was happy in her new 
home. He caine, and she, poor innocent, thought it 
no harm to let the new life he brought with him beam 
from her once more blooming face, ring from her 
altered voice, shine in her dark, wonderful eyes. The 
kinsman marked it, and his heart beat high with the 
old love he had thought crushed and broken forever. 
The husband saw it, and all the gloom and lerocious- 
ness of his nature darkened iiato a terrible and relent- 
less purpose. But he watched and waited. 

I knew, for I felt the memory tearing at his heart, 
that he had left them alone long, summer days, while 
he went out ostensibly to hunt in the forest, but soon 
returning, laid in wait, where he could watch the 
door of his own cabin, and the outgoings and the in- 
comings, the long, sweet hours of murmured talk be- 
neath tlie forest shadows, the growing consciousness 
of something in either heart that should not, must not 
he spoken ; the effort to control the rising passion, 
that in the end swept all before it ; the wild love, that 
in itself was sad despair; the temptation to fine to- 
gether ; the struggle that conquered that temptation ; 
the resolve to part — to part forever ; the anguish of the 
leave-taking — ah! I knew, I felt it all, as he, kneel- 
ing there, went over the terrible tragedy, step by ste]i, 
and saw for the first time, many a thing- in its true 
light, which before he had warped and twisted to a 
blacker meaning than it should have borne. 

And now she lay before him dead — the woman he 
had loved with a passion as stern and strong as 
hatred. 

And his rival? I think the terrible strength of his 
love and of his vengeance towards that pale corpse at 
his feet had crushed out all memory of him. He knew 
that the fierce brute, whom he had trained to share 
his hate and his love, had avenged both the one and 



336 THE DESERTED HUT. 

the ofher; and he was content that it should be so, 
hardly spending a second thought upon the fate of 
dog or man. The end — the end of all— had come, and 
the fierce excitement that for months had strung his 
■whole existence, and given tone to his very being, had 
culminated into tliis the fir-t hnur of revulsion, which 
must be as terrible in its excess as h.id beeu the pre- 
vious emotion. 

At last he rose, and as he uncovered his face, I 
shuddered to see the n'ork the one iionr had wrought 
upon it. Vengeance liad already overtaken him, and 
EOiirked him as her own. 

Close to where she lay he made her grave ; fash- 
ioned it with care and skill, there in the midst of the 
home which now she should nevermore desert. 

When all was ready, he raised her in his arms, 
kissed once more the cold lips, which now could 
neither reject nor return the caress, strained her in a 
wild embrace, uatil her heart's blood moistened his 
own breast, and then he laid her softly down, rever- 
ently covered the pale face, that to the last looked 
back his every hiok, whether of love, or longing, or 
wild regret, with the same stern, patient accusation, 
and heaped the earth upon the quiet form. 

When all was done, he took his rille in his hand, 
and, softly opening the door, went or.t into the night. 
A few moments later, a sharp report rang through 
the gray twilight of the morning; and then all was 
still, save the low sobbing of the exhausted i^torm, as, 
moaning, it hid itself in the depths of the forest. 

The slow twilight broadened into day ; and .it last I 
rose, with the slow and cautious movement of one 
who fears to disturb a sleei'er close at hand. 

I was not surprised to find the door and window 
fast, as I had left them, although the hunter had 
passed out of the door, leaving it open behind him. I 
turned to the spot where i had seen him lay the dead 
body of the woman he had love'i so well and pun- 
ished so terrib y. A sunken grave was plainly visi- 
ble by the dull morning light. I knelt beside it, and 
praj'ed for the peace of those three souls, gone to 
judgmeat, with all their sins upon their heads. 

Then I crept sottly from the house, and, with the 
aid of the ri.^eii sun, made my way to the point of my 
destinatiim. But, although I tried, I could not ask a 
question of those who might have given me the story 
of the deserted hut. Some inner impulse withheld me, 
and the words always died unspoken upon my lips. 
Bat, after all, what need ? Did 1 not know it already, 
and know it as surely as if I had beeu an actor my- 
eelf in the tragedy rehearsed before mine eyes ? 



THE FAIRY Q^EEX. 237 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

•' OxcETipon a time," in the earlier part of the seven- 
teenth century, wa> born Cliarles Perrault. We pass 
over his boyhood and youth to the period when, after 
having louif filled the situation of Commissiouer of 
Public Baildiugs, he fell into disgrace with hi- patron, 
the prime minister Colbert, and was obliged to resiga 
his situation. Fortunately he had not been unmindful 
of prudential economy during the days of prosperity, 
and had made some little savings, on which he retired 
tj a small house in the Rae St. Jacijues, and devoted 
himself to the education of his children. 

About this time he composed his fairy tales. He 
himself attached little literary importance to produc- 
tions destined to be handed down to posterity, ever 
fresh and ever new. He usually wrote in the morning 
the story for the evening's amusement. Thus were 
produced in their turn "Cinderella," " Little Eed Rid- 
ing Hood," "Blue Beard," "Puss in B )ots," •' Kiquet 
with the Tuft," and many other wondrous tales, which 
men now, forsooth, pretend to call fictions. Charles 
Lamb knew better. He was looking for books for a 
friend's child, and when the bookseller, seeing him 
turn from shelves loaded with Mrs. Trimmer and Mrs. 
Edgeworth, offered him modern tales of fay and genii, 
as substitutes for his old favorites, he exclaimed: 

"These are not my own true fairy tales." 

When surrounded by his grandchildren, Perrault 
related to them the stories he had formerly invented 
for his children. One evening, after having repeated 
for the seventh or eight time the clever tricks of " Puss 
in Boots," Mary, a pretty little girl of seven years of 
age, climbed on her grandfather's knf?e, and giving 
him a kiss, put her dimpled little hands into the curls 
of the old man's large wig. 

"Grandpapa," said she, "why don't you make 
beautiful stories for us as you used to do for papa and 
my uncles?" 

"Tes," exclaimed the other children, " dear grand- 
papa you must make a story entirely for ourselves." 

Charles Perrault smiled, but there was a touch of 
sadness in the smile. 

'■Ah, dear children," said he, "it is very long since 
I wrote a fairy tale, and I am not as young as I was 
then. You see 1 require a stick to enable me to get 
along, and am bent almost double, and can walk but 



238 . THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

very, very slowly. Bfy eyes ai-e so dim I can hardly 
distiuguisli your little merry faces ; my ear can hardly 
catch the sound of your voices ; nor is my mind what 
it was. My imagination has lost its vigor and fresh- 
ness ; memory itself has nearly deserted me; hut I 
love you dearly, aad like to give you pleasure. How- 
ever, I doubt if my poor bald head could now make a 
fairy tale for you, so I will tell yoa one which I heard 
so often from my mother that I think I can repeat it 
word for word." 

The children joyfully gathered round the old man, 
who passed his hands for a moment across his wrin- 
kled brow, aad began the st'jry, as follows: 

My mother and your great-graudmother, Madeline 
GeolFiey, was the daughter of a linen draper, who, at 
the time I speak of, had been residing for three years 
in the Rue des Bourdonnais, close to the Cemetery of 
the Innocents. One evening, having gone alone to 
vespers at the church of St. Eustace, as she was hast- 
ening home to her mother, who had been prevented 
by illness from accompaoying her, she heard a great 
noise at the top of the street, and looking up saw an 
immense mob hurrying along, shouting and hooting. 
As they were then in the midst of the troubles of the 
Fronde, Madeline in alarm hurried toward the house, 
aad having opened the door by a latch-key, was turn- 
ing to close it, when she was startled on seeing behind 
her a woman wrapped in a black mantle holdiusr two 
children by [he hand. This woman rushed past Made- 
line into the shop, exclaiming: 

" In the name of all you hold most dear, save me! 
Hide me and my children in some corner of your 
house! However helpless and unlorcunaie 1 may ap- 
pear at this moment, doubt not my power to prove my 
gratitude to you." 

"I should want no reward for helping the dis- 
tresse<l," said Madeline, deeply touched by the 
mother's agony ; '-but poor protection can this house 
alford against a brutal mob." 

The stranger cast a hurried and tearful glance 
ar-ouud ; when suddenly uttering a cry of joy, she 
fixed her eye upon part of the floor almost concealed 
by the shop counter, and rushing to the spot, ex- 
claimed, " I have it!— I have it!" As she spoke she 
lifted a crap-door contrived in the fluor, opening ou a 
stone staircase which led to a subterranean passage; 
and snatching up her children in her arms, darted 
down into the gulf, leaving my mother stupefied with 
astonishment. But theories of tue mob, who had by 
this time reached the shop, and were clamorously de« 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 239 

manding admittance, roused her: and qnickly closing 
the trap-door, she called her father, who came down 
in great alarm. 

After a short parley he opened the door, which 
they were beginning to force. The mob consisted of 
two or three hundred miserable tattered wretches, 
who poured into the house ; who. after searching every 
corner of it without finding anytliing, were so furious 
with disappointment, that they seized upon Madeline 
and her father. 

" Deliver up to us the woman we are looking for! " 
they exclaimed. " She is a vile sorceress — an enemy 
to the citizens of Paris ; shetakes the part of the hated 
Austrian against us : she is the cause of all the famine 
and misery that is desolating Paris. We must have 
her and her children, that we may wreak just ven- 
geance on thern." 

" We know not who you mean," replied my grand- 
father, who, in truth, was quite ignorant of what had 
occurred; " we have not seen anyone — no one has 
entered the house." 

" We know how to make such obstinate old wretches 
speak," exclaimed one of the ringleaders. 

He seized my mother, and pointing a loaded pistol 
at her breast, cried: 

" The woman ! ' We want the woman ! " 

At this moment Madeline, being exactly over the 
trap-door, heard a slight ruscie underneath ; and fear- 
ing that it would beti'ay the stranger's hiding-plact^, 
endeavored to drown the noise from below by stamp- 
ing with her foot, while she boldly replied : 

"I have no one to give up to you." 

"Wt.ll, then, you shall see liow it fares with those 
who dare to resist us!" roared one of the infuriated 
mob. Tearing off her veil, he seized Madeline by tne 
hair, and pulled her to the ground. 

"Speak!" he exclaimed, "or I will drag you 
through the streets of Paris to the gibbet on the place 
de la Greve." 

My mother uttered not a word, but silently com- 
mended herself to God. What might have been the 
issue Heaven only knows, had not the citizens in that 
quarter, on seeing their neighbor's house attacked, 
hastily armed themselves and dispersed the mob. 
Madeline's first care was to reassure her almost faint- 
ing mother. After which, rejoining her father, she 
helped him to barricade the door, so as to be prepared 
for any new incursion, anil then began to prepare the 
supper as usual. 

While laying the cloth the young girl debated 



24fl THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

whether she should tell her father of the refuge 
aflfoided to the straut^er by the subterraQeous pa&f^age ; 
but after a fervent prayer to God, to enable Ler to act 
for the best, she decided that it would be more prudent 
not to expose him to any risk ai'ising from the pos- 
session of such a secret. Arming herself, therefore, 
with all the resolution she conld command, she per- 
formed her usual household duties; and when her 
father and mother had retired to rest, and all was 
quiet in the house, she took off her shoes, and stealing 
down stairs into the shop, cautiously opened the trap- 
door and entered the vault with provisions for those 
who already were indebted to her for life and safety. 

"You are a noble girl," said the stranger to her. 
"What do I not owe to your heroic devotedness 
and presence of mind? God will reward you in 
Heaven, and I trust he will permit me to recompense 
you here below." 

Madeline gazed with intense interest on the stranger, 
as the light in her hand, falling full upon her face, 
gave to view features whose dignified and majestic 
expression inspired at the very first glance a feeling 
of respect. Her long black mantle almost wholly con- 
cealed her figure, and a veil was thrown over her 
head. H,er children lay at her feet in a quiet sleep. 

" Thanks for the food you have brought," she said 
to Madeline. "Thanks, dear girl. As for nie I cannot 
eat: but my children have tasted nothing since morn- 
ing. I will a-fk you to leave me your light ; and now 
go, take some rest, for surely you must want it after 
the excitement you have undergone." Madeline looked 
at her in surprise. 

'•I should have thought, Madame," sa'd she, "that 
you would make an effort to fiad some asylum, if not 
more secure, at least more comfortable than this." 

" Be not uneasy about me, my good girl. When 
my time is come it will be as easy for me to leave this 
place as it was to reveal to you the secret of its 
existence. Good night, mj-- child. Perhaps we may 
not meet again for some time ; but remember, I sol- 
emnly promise that I will grant any three wishes you 
may form." 

She motioned to her to retire; and that indescriba- 
ble air of majesty which accompanied every gesture 
of the unknown .seemed as if it left Madeline no 
choice but to obey. 

Notwithstanding her fatigue, Madeline hardly slept 
that night. The events of the day had seized hold of 
her imagination, and she exhausted herself in con- 
tinued and wondering conjecture. Who could this 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 3il 

woman be, pursued by the populace, and accused of 
being a sorceress and an enemy to the people? How 
could she know of a place of concealment of which 
the inhabitants of the house were ignorant? As 
Tainly did Madeline try to explain her entire com- 
posure, the certainty with which she spoke of being 
ablo to leave the vaalc whenever she pleased, and 
above all, the solemn and mysterious promise she had 
made to fulfil any three witches of the young girl. 

Had you, my dear children, been in your great- 
grandmother's place, should you not have been very 
much excited and very curious ? What think you? 
Would you have slept a bit better than Madeline did? 
I hardly think you would, if I may judge from those 
eager eyes. 

The whole of the next day Madeline could think of 
nothing but her secret. Seated behind the counter, in 
her usual place, she started at the slightest sound. At 
one moment it seemed to her as if every one who en=« 
tered the shop must discover the trap door ; at the 
next she expected to see it raised to give egress to the 
unknown, till, dizzy and bewildered, she scarcely 
knew whether to believe her whose life she had saved 
to be a malignant sorceress or a benevolent fairy. 
Then, smiling at her own foily, she asked herself how 
a woman, endowed with supernatural power, could 
need her protection. It is unnecessary to say how 
long the time appeared to her till she could revisit the 
subterranean passage, and find herself once more in 
the presence of the stranger. Thus the morning, the 
afternoon, and the evening wore slowly away, and it 
seemed ages to her till her father, mother, and the 
shopmen were fairly asleep. 

As soon as the clock struck twelve she rose, using 
still more precaution than on the preceding night, 
opened the trap-door, descended the stone staircase, 
and entered the subterraneous passage, but found no 
one. She turned the light in every direction. The 
vault was empty ! the stranger and her children had 
disappeared ! Madeline was almost as much alarmed 
as surprised ; however, recovering herself, she care- 
fully examined the walls of the vault. Not an open- 
ing, not a door, not the smallest aperture, was to be 
seen. She stamped on the ground, bxit no hollow 
sound was heard. Suddenly she thought she per- 
ceived some written characters on the stone flag. She 
bent down, and by the light of her lamp read the fol- 
lowing words, evidently traced with some pointed in- 
strument: 

" liemember, Madeline, that she who owes to thee 
16 



243 THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

the life of her children, promises to grant thee three 
wishes." 

Here Perrault stopped. 

" Well, children," said he, " what do you think of 
this first part of my story, and of your great-grand- 
mother's adventures? What conjectures have you 
formed as to the mysterious lady?" 

*' She is a good fairy," said little Mary, " for she can 
grant three wishes, like the fairy in Finetta." 

"No, she is a sorceress," objected Louisa. "Did 
not the people say so? And they would not have 
wanted to kill her unless she was wicked." 

" As for me," replied Joseph, the eldest of the fam- 
ily, " I believe neither in witches nor fairies, for 
there are no such things. Am I not right, grand- 
papa?" 

Charles Perrault smiled, but contented himself with 
eaying: 

"Now, be oflF to bed. It is getting late. Do not 
forget to pray to God to make you good children ; and 
I promise, if you are very diligent to-morrow, to 
finish for you in the evening the wonderful adven- 
tures of your great-grandmother." 

The children kissed their grandpapa, and went to 
bed, to dream of Madeline and the fairy. 

The next evening, the old man, taking his usual 
seat in the arm chair, resumed his story without any 
preamble, though a pi'eamble is generally considered 
as important by a story-teller as a preface is by the 
writer of a romance, fie spoke as follows: 

It would seem that my mother, in her obscure and 
peaceful life, had nothing to wish fur, or that her 
wishes were all fulfilled as soon as fuimed ; for she 
not only never invoked the fairy of the vault, but 
even gradually lost all remembrance of the proiuises 
madeher by the unknown, and the whole adventure 
at last faded from her memory. It is true that thir- 
teen years had passed away, and the young girl had 
beome a wife and mother. She had long lett the 
house where the occurrence I have related to you 
took place, aud had come to live in the Rue St. 
Jacques, where we now reside, though I have since 
then rebuilt the former tenement. 

My father, as you know, was a lawyer. Though 
of noble birth, he did not think it beneath him to 
marry the daughter of a shopkeeper, with but a small 
dowry. He found in Madeline's excellent qualities, 
her gentleness and beauty, irresistible attractions — 
and who that knew her could disapprove of his 
choice ? Madeline possesserf, in an eminent degree, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 243 

that natural refinement of mind and manner which, 
education and a knowledge of the world so often fail 
to give, while it seems incuitive in some. She devoted 
herself entirely to the happiness of her husband and 
her four sons, of whom I was the youngest. My 
father's income was quite sufflcienc for all the ex- 
penses of our happy family ; for a truly happy family 
it was, till it plea-ed God to lay a heavy trial upon 
us. My father fell ill, and for a whole year was 
obliged to give up the profits of his situation to pro- 
vide a substitute ; and he had scarcely begun, after 
his recovery, to endeavor to repair the losses he had 
snfiFered, wlien a fresh misfortune occurred. 

One night, as my mother was lying quietly in bed, 
with her four little cubs around her, she was awak- 
ened by an unusual noise, to behold the hou.^e 
wrapped in flames, which had already almost reached 
the room in which we were. At this moment my 
father appeared, and took my eldest brothers in his 
arms, while my mother had charge of Nicholas and 
me, who were the two youngest. Never shall I for- 
get this awful moment. The flames crackled and 
hissed around us, casting a livid hue over the pale 
faces of my father and mother, who boldly advanced 
through the fire. With great dilflculty they gained 
the staircase. My father dashed bravely forward. 
Nicholas, whom my mother held by the baud, 
screamed violently, and refused to go a step further. 
She caught him up in her arms, but during the short 
struggle the staircase had given way, and for a few 
moments my mother stood paralyzed by despair. 
But soon the imminent danger roused all the energy of 
her heroic nature. Your grandmother was no com- 
mon woman. She immediately retraced her steps, 
and, firmly knotting tae bedclothes together, fastened 
my brother and myself to them, and letting us dowu 
through the window, my father received us in his 
arms. Her children once saved, my mother thought 
but little of danger to herself, and she waited in calm 
self-possession till, a ladder being brought, she was 
rescued. 

This trial was but a prelude to many others. The 
loss of our house completed the ruia of which my 
father's illness was but the beginning. He was 
obliged to dispose of his situation, and take refuge in 
small lodgings at Chaillot, and there set to work, 
steadily and cheerfully, to support his family, open- 
ing a kind of pleader's ofiice for legal students. But 
his health soon failed, and he became dangerously ill. 
My noble-minded mother struggled hard to ward off 



244 THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

the want that now seemed inevitable; but what 
availed the efforts of one woman to support a sick 
husband and four children ? one night came when we 
had literally nothing to eat. I shall never forget my 
mother's face, and the tears which streamed down her 
cheeks, whea one of us cried: 

" Mother, we are very hungry." 

She now resolved to apply for help to the nuns of 
Chaillot ; a step which, to her independent spirit, was 
a far greater trial than to brave the threats of the mob 
or the fury of the flames. But what is there too hard 
for a mother who has heard her children ask for food 
which she had not to give them ? With sinking heart, 
aad cheek now pale, now crimson from the struggle 
within her, she presented herself at tlie convent, and 
timidly made known her desire to speak with the 
superior. Her well-known character procured her 
instant admission, and her tale once told, obtained 
for her much kindly sympathy and some relief. As 
she was passing through the cloisters on her way 
back, she was startled by a voice suddenly demand- 
ing— 

"Art thou not Madeline Perrault?" 

My mother started ; the toues of that voice found an 
echo in her memory, and, though thirteen years had 
elapsed since she had heard it, she recognized it to be 
that of the being whom her husband was wont to call 
her "Fairy." She turned round, and as the pale 
moonbeams, that were now siruggling through the 
long, dim aisle, fell upon the well-remembered, stately 
form, in its black garb and flowing mantle, it seemed 
to Madeline's excited imagination to be indeed a being 
of some other world. 

''I made thee a promise," said the unknown ; "didst 
thou doubt my power, that thou hast never invoked 
my aid?" 

My mother crossed herself devoutly, now convinced 
that she was dealing with a supernatural being. The 
phantom smiled at her awe-struck look, aud resumed : 

" Yet fear not ; you have but to name three wishes, 
and my promise is still sure— they shall be granted." 

"My husband — oh, if he were but once more well." 

"I say not that to give life or healiug is withia 
my province to bestow. God alone holds in his hands 
the issues of life and death. Say what else lies near 
thine heart." 

" Bread for my husband and children. Save them 
and me from beggary and want." 

' ' This is but one wish, and I would grant two more." 

"I ask not —wish not for more." 



THE FAIKT QUEEN. 245 

"Be it so, then, Madeline Perrault ; hold yourself 
in readiness to obey the orders that shall reach you 
before twelve hours have passed over your head." 

And she disappeared from Madeline's sight as sud- 
denly as she had appeared to her. 

My mother returned home in considerable agitation, 
and told my father all that had occurred. He tried to 
persuade her that the whole scene had been conjured 
Tip by her owq excited imagination. But my mother 
persisted in repoHt^ng that nothing could be real if 
this was bat fancy : ;iud they passed a sleepless night 
in bewildering conjectures. 

Early the next day a carriage stopped at the door, 
and a footman announced to my motner that it was 
seut to convey her and her family to a place appointed 
by one whose summons there was good reason they 
should obey. No question could extract from him 
any further information. You may well fancy how 
long my father and mother debated as to the prudence 
of obeying the mysterious summons. But curiosity 
at last prevailed, and, to the uumixed delight of the 
children of the party, we all got into the carriage, 
which took the road to Paris, and drove on rapidly 
till we reached the Eue St. Jacques, where it drew up 
before a new house ; and as the servant opened the 
carriage door and let d^wn the steps, my father per-' 
ceived that it occapied the site of his house which had 
been burned down. 

Oar little party was met in the entrance by a depu- 
tation of the civic authorities, who welcomed my 
father to his house, and congratulated him on being 
reinstated in the situation he had so long held with 
such credit to himself, and, as they were pleased to 
add, to themselves as members of the body to which 
he was such an honor. 

My father stood as if in a dream, while my mother 
shed tears of joy and gratitude. A letter was now 
handed to her, and hastily brealviug the seal, she read: 

"Madeline, hast thou still a wish? Speak, and it 
shall be gratified." 

"Only that 1 maybe allow<^d to see my benefactress, 
to pour out at her feet ray heart's gratitude." 

And at the instant the dujr opened, and the unknown 
appeared. Madeline, with clasped hands, darted sud- 
denly forward ; then, as suddenly checking herself, 
uttered some incoherent words, broken by sobs. 

"Madeline," said the lady, " I have paid but a small 
part of the debt 1 owe you. But lor you, a ferocious 
mob would have mura'ered me and my children. To 
you I owe lives dearer to me than my own. Do not 



246 THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

deem me ungrateful ia so long appearing to liave for- 
gotten you. It hits pleased oar Hea vealy i'ather to 
visit me also with he<tTy trials. Like you, I have 
seen my children in waut of food whicb I had not to 
give, and without a spark of fire to warm their chilled 
limbs. But more: my husbaud was traitorously put 
to death, and I have been myself proscribed, vv hen 
you rescued me, tliey were hunting me like a wild 
beast, because I refused to take part against the son 
of my brother. But brighter days have dawned. My 
son is restored to the throue of his fathers, <tnd Henri- 
etta of England can now pay the debt of gratitude she 
owes Madeline Penault." 

" But how caa poor Madeline ever pay the debt she 
owes?" exclaimed my mother. 

" By sometimes coming to visit me in my retreat at 
ChailLol; for wbat has a queeu without a kingdom, 
a widow weeping for her murdered husbaud, a mother 
forever separated from her cuildreu — what has she 
any more to do with the world wuose nothingness she 
has so sadly experienced? To know that amid my 
desolation i have made oue being happy, will be 
soothing to me, and your children's ianocent merri- 
ment perchance may beguile some lonely huurs. 
Henceforth, Madeline, our intercourse will not bear the 
romantic character that has hitherto marked it, and 
which chance, ia the first instance, and a terward a 
whim of mine, has made it assume. By accident I 
was led to take refuge in your house in the Rue des 
Bourdonnais, and in>tantly recollected it as the former 
abode of Kuggieri, my motuer's astrologer. His labora- 
tory was the vault which doubtless you have not for- 
gotten, and the entrance to which was as well known 
10 me as the subterraneous passage by which i left it, 
and which led to the Cemeiery of the Innocents. Last 
night 1 heard all you said to the superior, and was 
about to inquire directly of yourself, wheu, seeing the 
efi'ect of my sudden appearance, I was induced to play 
the fairy once more. The instant you left me 1 put in 
requisition the only fairy wand I possessed, and . 
money soon placed at my dispo?al the house which I 
have the happiness of making once again your own. 
You know now my secret, but though no fairy, I have 
still some influence, and you shall ever have in me a 
firm friend aud protectress." And from that time the 
queen never lost an opportunity of serving my mother 
aud her family, aud it is to her I owe the favor and 
patronage of the Minister Colbert. 

"And now, children," said Perrault, "how do you 
like my last fairy tale?" 



AMONG SHAKPS. 247 



AMONG SHARPS. 

In February, last year, I came to London for the 
day, oa busiuess which, cook me into the city. Hav- 
ing accoiuplished ihe purpose of my visit more quickly 
than 1 expected, I was strolling leisurely along Sc. 
Paul's Charohyard, with the view of working my 
way into the Strand. The time of day was some- 
thing after twelve at noon, and of all the busy stream 
of people that flowed cityward or ebbed pitst me, it 
seem d that 1 was the only loiterer. A man, how- 
ever, walking nearly as slowly as J, seeing me smok- 
ing as he passeil, at last stopped and asked me for a 
light. I gave liiin a match. He fell back a little out 
of the stream of traffic into the shelter of a shop- 
window corner, to light his cigar in peace. He was a 
shoreman, about six and thirty, wicli brown beard 
and whiskers, face a tiifle marked with small-pox, 
well-dressed, of gentlemanly appearance, and spoke 
with a strong (indeed, much too strong) American 
twang 

As i continued my stroll I soon became aware that I 
was followed by tuis gentleman. The slower I walked, 
the slower he walked. It is not comfortable to be fol- 
lowed—so I pulled up to let him pass. Instead of 
doing so, he no sooner came up with, me than he pulled 
up, loo. 

He set his head just a thought out of tbe perpendic- 
ular, and lookiug me full in the face, said, "Guess 
this is a tall city? Rather tangled to get abozit in, 
though ? Now, it ain't like Philadelphy, where our 
critters knew what they was going at before they 
begun to build, and ruled all the streets straight ahead 
in right lines. No, sir." 

" No ■? '•' I said, curtly, and was moving on. 

"No, sir," he continued, walking.bymy side, "and 
it's useless for a stranger in yure city to g'ive his mind 
to going anywhere, for he ain't likely to get there. 
Now, it it ain't re-ude of a stranger asking it, be- 
cause he is a stranger, (and we know how to treat 
strangers in our country, sir,) where air yen going 
to? Happen yea can put me in the way where I'm 
goin' to." 

" 1 am making for the Strand," I said; " If your 
way lies in that direction, I can show it you; if not, 
I can tell you how to find it." 



248 AMONG SHARPS. 

" Just where I'm castin' about to get to," lie returned; 
" my moorins is at a hotel opposite Somerset House, 
and as soon as I get into the Strand, I can fix myself 
right up. So I'll just couple on to you." 

I allowed him to do so. I hinted that I had no wish. 
to show discourtesy to a citizen of that great nation 
to which he belonged. My companion had plenty to 
say. He rattled on about the States being this and 
the States being that, so that it was needless for me to 
do any more talking than an occasional interjection of 
surprise or satisfaction, each of which was acknowl- 
edged with a Yes, sir, or a No, sir, completely final. 
He told me that he had only been in England for a 
fortnight — just taken a run over to see the old country 
^and should be back in Woo York again in a couple 
of months. 

When we had passed through Temple Bar, I told 
him he could be in no further doubt as to his way, 
since he was now in the Strand. 

"I'm considerable obliged," he said. " I'll do as 
much for you, when you come to Noo York. But you 
ain't going to part company like that?" 

I had freed my arm and held out my hand to wish 
him good-morning, 

" You'll just do a sp«ll? " he continued. 

"A what? " said I. 

" Do I not make myself clear to the British intel- 
lect? Keckon you'll liquor?" 

No, I reckoned I had rather be excuse!. 

"Wal," he said, chewing his cigar so that it as- 
sumed a rotary motion, and its point described a cir- 
c e over his face. " Wal, sir, it's a custom we hev in 
our country, and we think it rather scaly manners 
to refuse. Reckon you Britishers do wo^ think it scaly 
to slight a friend's hospitality in the street. We ciw." 

As he persisted in regarding my refusal almost in the 
light of a personal insult, and would not listen to any 
explanation that we do not regard the declining of 
"drinks" in a similar lignt in our own country, I 
yielded the point. ' 

We retraced our steps a short distance and entered a 
wine store on the city side of Temple Bar, a very re- 
spectable place, where wines aie drawn from the 
wood. Small round marble tab esand light chairs arc 
dispersed about the shop for the convenience oi cus- 
tomers. Here my compauion compounded a drink of 
soda water and gin and lemon and ginger, of which 
he wished me to partake. I declined the mixture and 
took a glass of sherry. We might have sat five 
minutes, when a tall and important-looking person- 



AMONG SHAKPS. 249 

a?e lounged into the wine shop. As he entered, he 
cast a supercilious look upon all the occupants of the 
tables ; then, raising his head, he removed his cigar 
and emitted a long column of smoke from his lips as 
a contemptuous verdict of lofty disapproval on the 
society he had joined. He wa> well-dressed — irre- 
proachably, so far as the quality and cut of his 
clothes were concerned : but they seemed to assert 
that conscious independence of their wearer that new 
clothes will assert over a person who has been up all 
night. His black hair and small mustache were 
scrupulously well-arranged, but his eyes blinked in 
the dayliii'ht, seemingly for want of a night's rest. 

He sauntered up to our table and emitted another 
superior column of smoke over our heads. 

" Know this swell ?" my Yankee friend whispered, 

I shook my head. 

"ThouiTht'hemi^'ht be a member of yure Congress, 
or a tailor's advertisement, or some other nob." 

There was a .spare chair at our table, and ttie person 
thus irreverently alluded to, after some time spent in 
mentally climating the relative merits of the other 
vacant chairs, appeared to prevail on himself to take 
it and sit down. 

"Spree last night," he condescended to say pres- 
ently. "Champagne supper and things till all was 
blue. " 

" Very pretty tipple," said my American friend. 

" Ya-as. Then coming home with some fellahs, we 
saw a Hansom waiting outside a doctor's door, and 
we chained the man's cab to an iron post." 

" Man cuss much ? "-' 

"Bay Jove, ya-as. Doctor damning the cabman, 
and swearing he should be late, cabby cutting into his 
horse like forty thousand, and couldn't tell what was 
up. • 

" Will yea liquor?" inquired my American friend. 

"No; 'pon m' word, you know — you'll allow me. 
Waiter, bottle of champagne! " 

"Wal, reckon I'm not particular, so as we du 
liquor. (Original Champagne Charlie," the Ameiicaa 
whispered to me.) 

The swell put his hand in his breast-pocket and 
carelessly drt-w out a roll of notes, one of which he 
changed to pay for the champagne. 

My American friend nudged me and raised his eye- 
brows. 

" iTou'U excuse me, stranger," he said, " but if I 
was in yure place i would take care of those notes 
and not keep them in a breast-pocket, nor yet flask, 
'em about." 



250 AMONG SHAKPS. 

"Oh," said the swell, "I alway*: f^arr^ cnem so." 

" Then, maybe, yoa don't live in London, sir .?" 

" Oh, bay Jove, no. The fact is, my uncle has lately 
died and lelt me a fine property dovFU Id Essex, and 
till the lawyers have settled up, I came to have a 
flutter in town." 

"Then you'll excuse me once again, but if I was in 
yure place, I wouldn't flutter ray notes," and the Amer- 
ican appealed to me for justification. 

" Ye see yeu never know what company yeu may 
be in." 

I thought / knew what company I was in, but I 
didn't say so. 

" Aw! for that matter," said the swell, " I know I 
am always safe in the company of gentlemen." 

" That's correct. But heow do you tell a gentleman 
from a coon?" 

"Weil, I think a man's a gentleman— aw— if he's 
got money in his pocket." 

"Happen you're right. But heow much money 
must a man have in his pocket to prove him a gentle- 
man ?" 

"Nothing less than five pund," said the swell. 

"Wal, I dunno. Bnt for my part, I shouldn't like 
yeu to think yeu were ta kin' with any one but a g'-n 
tleman, as tar as I'm concerned," and my American 
friend produced his purse. 

"Aw," said the swell, before he opened it, "bay 
Jove, I'll bet you a new hat, you haven't got five pund 
in your purse." 

" Done with yeu! " said my esteemed friend. 

And on exhibiting his purse, he showed nearly 
tbirty sovereigns, as well as I could judge. 

"Aw, then I've lost, and I owe you a hat. Aw, 
here is my card." 

He handed it to us both. Frederick Church, Esquire, 

I was impressed with the notion that the faces of 
both these men were somehow familiar to me. 

The American nudged me again, and bestowed 
upon me an encouraging wink. 

"Eeckon now yeu won't bet my friend here he 
hasn't got five sovereigns about him?" 

He nudged me again. 

"Ya-as, I will," said Mr. Church, languidly. " I 
often do it for a lark. I am generally about right 
twice out of three times." 

I said that I didn't bet. 

" Aw, well, some people don't. I wouldn't per- 
suade anybody, I'm sure. Sure to lose in the long 
run. Bay Jove, I know /do. But just for the sport 



AMONG SHARPS. 251 

of the thing, I don't mind standing- a new hat if 
you've got five pund about you. Your friend shall 
be a witness. It's all right, you know, among gen- 
tlemen." 

I produced my purse. It contained about seven 
pounds in gold and silver. I also had about me a 
gold watch and chain, a ring or two, and a shirt pin. 
1 observed just the faintest sign of an interchange of 
intelligence between my companions. 

"Ah, lost again," Mr. Church remarked; "well, 
can't be helped. Another bottle of cbampagne." 

This bottle my American friend insisted on paying 
for. I drank very little. 

■'Really, you know, ' Mr. Church remarked over 
thenewbotte, "most siugular thing — aw— three fel- 
lahs, perfect strangers, should meet like this — and all 
of us strange to Londoa. Bay Jove. You're from 
the North, (1 had told them so, which was true,) I'm 
fi'om the East, and our friead and American brother, 
aw, if I may call him so, is from the West. Tell you 
what. As soon as ever the lawyers have done up my 
business, you shall both come down to my place in 
Essex and see me. Jolly good welcome, and deuced 
good shooting. You shoot, of course?" 

" Sheute ! Wal, a small piece. I was lieutenant in 
General Sherman's army for three years, and very 
pretty sheutin' we had. Conclude you mean rifle 
sheutin' ?" 

"Oh, no; shooting game," Mr. Church explained. 

" Yeu don't du rifle sheutin', then ?" 

" Bay Jove, no. I only shoot pheasants and par- 
tridges, and all that sort of thing." 

"Eeckon yu're a good shot, perhaps ?" 

" ISo, nothing uncommon." 

"Wal, how many times d'yu conclude yu'd hit the 
bull's-eye out of twenty with a rifle ?" 

" Oh, aw, I suppose sixteen, said Mr. Church. 

" Bet yeu ten dollars yeu don't hit it fourteen." 

" Done." 

*' Very good, sir. My friend here shall be umpire." 

This was I. 

" Oh, no ; hang it. He's a friend of yours — that s 
not fair. Have the landlord." 

Thus Mr. Church. 

The American explained that the landlord could not 
leave his business, and that I was only an acquaiu- 
tance of half an hour, and could not be prejudiced 
either way. So, with some apparent reluctance, Mr. 
Church consented. 

The next thing was, where should we go " to sheute 



253 AMONG SHARPS. 

off the affair," as my American friend put it. "I 
know there's a place Westminster way," he said. " I 
know there is, 'cause the volunteers sheute there." 

I told hiin no ; the volunteers did not shoot at 
Westminster, but only paraded. 

"I mean a gallery," he said, "I "know I had a 
shente there with one or tew volunteers last week ; 
hut I couldn't find the place again." 

"Call a cab," suggested Church. "Cabby '11 be 
sure to know." 

" Where to, sir ?" the cabman asked Church. 

" Westminster Palace Hotel," he replied. 

I was in a cab with two men whose object was to 
rob me, and I was being driven whither they directed. 
However, 1 was not going to be cowed at riding aloue 
with two thieve- through the crowded London streets in 
broad day, aud 1 was beat on disappointing them. As 
we rode on, they pretended ignorance of the various 
buildings we passed. I pointed out Somerset House, 
the Charing Cro«s Hotel, National Gallery, Whitehall, 
etc. 

Arrived at Westminster, Mr. Church dismissed the 
cab. We could walk the rest of the way, he said, and 
the cabman had told him where the shooting-gallery 
was. The two walked one on either side of me. We 
came to a dirty back street immediately behind the 
Westminster Palace Hotel, down that, and to the 
right — a dirtier street still. I said this was a strange 
situation for a shooting-gallery. " It was all right 
when you got there," Mr. Church said ; "it was kept 
very snug." 

At the lower end of this street, I was not at all ill- 
pleased to see a policeman talking to a woman. I 
tried my utmost to catch his eye as we passed, but 
without success. We turned down a third street of 
slimy houses, with here aud there the tilthy red cur- 
tain of a low public house. Sharp round the corner 
into a blind alley. A dank, greasy brick wall blocked 
the other end of the place, so I knew we had reached 
our destination. Scarcely more than one of the dilap- 
idated wooden houses in the alley showed outward 
signs of bfing tenanted ; decayed shutters were nailed 
up to tht, windows ; the whole frontage was smoth- 
ered iu tilth and grime. The mo-t villanous-looking 
public-house I ever set my eye^ on was the last house 
but one, nearest the wall. 

"That's the gallery," said Church. 

"Kec;<ou it is." said my American friend. "That's 
the identical crib wlie'C i made some fiuesheutia' lasC 
week. Come along." 



a:viong sharps. 253 

I followed them to the door. A -woman -went otit as 

they entered. " Go and fetch and ," two 

names I could not catch, I overheard Church whisper. 
The men went in first. I following. The beershop 
bar was a filchy room, about six feet square, on tlie 
right as we entered, with only a window to serve beer 
through. The passage was long. About three yards 
downit was a partition with a half-door, very strong. 
1 saw, too, that it had a strong hasp or c^ttch to it, 
without a handle, so that, once past that, a victim 
was shut in like a mouse in a trap. I stopped there. 

" Come along, and look sharp," said my American 
friend, with less twang than before ; "here's the gal- 
lery," and he opened a door on the left. 

I looked in at that open door. I S4W a strong room 
or cell, seven feet square, as near as 1 can judge — noth- 
ing but bare brick walls, no window (it was lighted 
for the moment from the passage,) and deep sawdust 
on the floor. Both the men were beside the door, 
standing half in light, half in shadow. 

" Han y the Maid, and Churcher," I said, '* I know 
you both. It won't do, and you have lost some valu- 
able time!" I slammed the half-door to gain a mo- 
ment's time from pursuit, and took to my heels. I 
had been in the court at Worcester when these two 
men were tried for card shari>ing. I never slackened 
speed until I came upon the policeman, who was still 
talking to the woman. 

•' Policeman," I said, " I think I can put you on two 
people you want, perhaps— Harry the Maid, and 
Churcher." 

" Harry the Maid," he replied, " is the greatest card 
sharper in England, and Churcher is the tip-top of 
skittle sharps ; but that's not their only trade." 

I told him of my adventure, and how I had tried to 
arrest his attention as I passed. 

" Look you here, sir," he said, " as you've got away 
alive, and with your clothes on, from those two, just 
you be very thankful for having done well, and don't 
ask for anything more. If you had caught my eye as 
you passed, /wouldn't have gone into that crib after 
you — no, nor yet if there had been two more along 
with me. If we want a man out of that place, we go 
ten and a dozen strong ; and even then it's a risk." 

*' But supposing I had really been a simple country- 
man, and passed that half-door and gone into the 
trap?" I asked. 

*^ If you had come out any more, it would have 
been in youi- shirt," replied the policeman. 



254 MAGNITUDE OF THE UNIVERSE. 



MAGNITUDE OF THE UNIVERSE. 

To the eye of one not accustomed to consider those 
distances and magnitudes, the firmament of night 
presents a wide contusion of nearly evanescent points 
of distant light — and their inconceivable remoteness 
and vastaess become incredible or hard to realize. 
The eternal depths of infinity are projected upon an 
apparently concave hemisphere, and widely sepa- 
rated worlds are crowded together on the sight of man. 
There is no great diflicnlty, however, in the attain- 
ment of a scale by which a person of ordinary intel- 
ligence may correct this fallacy of vision. Let us, for 
the advantage of round numbers, lake Jupiter's di- 
ameter at 89,000 miles, aud its distance from the earth, 
in opposition, 399,000,000 of miles ; in this case its ap- 
parent magnitude will be to the eye a seeming point. 
This point^then, at that distance, represents a line of 
89,000 miles. Now let us stippose an accurate meas- 
ure by the usual methods of science, and at the mean 
distance of the planet we shall have its apparent 
diameter about 4om, each second of which may repre- 
sent 1,900 miles. Now let us suppose this visual object 
removed a million times farther, the same apparent 
diameter being still preserved, and computing the line 
it would then represent, each second should give a 
distance of 1,900 millions of miles, which, multiplied 
by 4.5, would give S}4 millions of millions of miles 
between two stars, still so close as to otter but one 
luminous point to earthly vision. Thus ra,i.y be easily 
apprehended the mutual remoteness of the bodies 
which seem to crowd the heavens, aud a clear sense 
of the actual magnitude of the creation which the 
sceptical philosophy would consign to non-existence. 
There is a curious and interesting calculation of Sir 
W. Herschell received with some reserve by modern 
astronomers. Sir William Herschell surmised, on 
probable grounds, that some nebulse which were just 
visible in his telescope, might consist of 50,000 stars. 
Now, by Sir W. Herschell's theory, a fixed star, barely 
visible in his telescope, should be 192 times further 
o-if than a fixed star of the seventh magnitude, the 
farthest visible to the naked eye, and computed, by 
the same theory, to be itself seven times farther than 
a star of the first magnitude, while its light would 
take eight years to reach the earth. But when a star 
and a uebulse are both just barely visible, the quau- 



ON AN UMBRELLA. 255 

tity of light received from eacli must be equal, and 
consequently the light from the single star must be 
50,000 times greater than that from any one of the 
50,000 ; and as the density of light varies inversely as 
the square of the distance, the nebulae must be further 
oif than the star by the square root of 50,000— nearly 
223 times. The wliole discauce of the nebulse, there- 
fore, beyond the nearest fixed star should, according 
to this statement, be expressed by the product of 7, 
192 and 223 multiplied together, or, approximately, 
300,000 times. Computing from this data by the 
known velocity of light, Sir W. Herschell computes 
nearly 2,000,000 of years for its reaching us from such 
a nebulse ; a conclusion wiiich, though resting on con- 
jectural distances, has in it a degree of probability 
enough to convey a just illustration of the real mag- 
nitude of the universe, and suggest the truth that no 
distance can be conceived at which a world may not 
exist. 



ON AN UMBRELLA. 

I had a new, a cherished silk umbrella. 

Which I with care concealed behind tht> rack, 
Until one night a friend— a thoughtless fellow — 

Desired its use, and never brought it back ! 
This friead upon my .sister had beeu callings 

That was all right ; but wuen he ro-e to go. 
And reached the door, behold, a rain was lalling; 

So my umbrella went along with beau. 

There, snug in bed, unconscious of the sorrow 

In all its bitterness to be revealed 
To my unhappy gaze upon the morrow 

(A sorrow time, alas I has never healed,. 
There, snug in bed I lay, and, smiling, hearkened 

To the remorseless patter of the rain. 
Why, let it pour, and let the sky be darkened ; 

/was prepared, so why should /complain? 

Ah! that sad morn, when, breakfast bping over, 

I took my hat, approached the faithful stand, 
To draw my dear umbrella from its cover, 

And no umbrella met my eager hand ! 
'Twas gone My sister soon explained the reason: 

"You were not out last night, my dear, you know, 
And as he was a-coughin' and a-sneezin'. 

When he went home — I lent it to — my Ijeaul" 



256 PLANCHETTE. 

It went, it staid. I never saw it after, 
Though days, and weeks, and months have passed 



Nay, <;entle reader, check, I pray, your laughter— 
My fate may be your own some rainy day ! 

I mourn my loss as though it were a brother, 
Or, vvhac perhaps is better, a sweet wife! 

One thing is sure — I'll never get another, 
But rather go umbrellaless through life 



PLANCHETTE. 

We took Plauchette home with us, and have tested 
its powers, with the mo.>t astonishing results. On the 
first trial it told us a great many events iu our past 
life that we never knew ourselves even! With regard 
to the future, it said we should live to have parents, 
be bald-headed at ninety, and, dying at a sweet old 
age, lake as much property away wiih us as did the 
famous millionaire so often quoted, John Jacob Astor. 
We have dispensed with ciocks entirely at our house, 
Pianchette telling the time of day whenever applied 
to. She warns us of storms, domestic and otherwise ; 
reminds us of rent day in advance of the landlord; 
detects frauds in the gas bills ; tells what folks say 
about us after we have been to call upon them ; pre- 
dicts next week's style of bonnet, and makes herself 
generally useful. Our youngest boy gets Pianchette 
to assist him in ciphering out all his hard sums, and 
the cook boils by her ! 

Upon one occasion we told a neighbor if he wanted 
to hold converse with the spirits, to come over to our 
house that night, and he was at liberty to bring some 
of his friends also. We would give them a specimen 
of the wonderful powers of Pianchette. Neighbor 
came, and about a dozen with him. Brought out 
Pianchette. "Now," said we to our neighbor, " do 
you recall to your mind any departed spirits you 
would like to hear from?" 

"Ah, yes," said he, visibly affected, "I do." 

"You have some choice of spirits, without doubt," 
said we ; " name it, and it shall be produced." 

"Can I have my — my choice— of — of — spirits?" 
Bobbed the unhappy man, with face buried in his 
handkerchief. 

"You can." 

"Then, said he, "I'll name— Old Bourbon!" 



THE FIRST DOCTOR. 257 

We had to stand it. We kept a few bottles (very 
old) hid away, in case of sickaess, which we were 
obliged to pi'oduce, and they left nothing but the 
empty glassware when they went away. 

Pla'nchette is a great institution, and no family 
should be without it. 



THE FIRST DOCTOR. 

*'WHOwasthe first doctor? What physic did lie 
give? and how did his patients like it?" "Galen 
was the man, answers the family JJ. D., in a tone of 
reverential admiration for the accredited author of the 
healing art. " Galen was the father of medicine," he 
goes ou to say, " and we are indebted to him for — " 
"The father of medicine," interrupted Paterfamilias, 
"he was not even its elder brother. What did the 
people do until Galen's time? And was not Hippo- 
crates setting bones five hundred years before?" 
M.D. looks puzzled, for Paterfamilias is right; and, 
for the matter of that Pythagoras had been dosing his 
confiding friends with all sorts of queer compounds a 
century or so earlier. If he did not administer the 
first black draught, nobody can say who did, so let 
him have all honor of the nasty mixture. The 
Egyptians, indeed, were early afoot as medicine men, 
and were concocting potions hundreds of years before 
the Samian philosopher tried his hands at drugs. 
But the land of mystery seems to have taken its 
physic without troubling itself to remember who first 
prescribed the dose. Medicine has fared like beer. 
No one knows to whom the world is indebted for these 
wonderful compounds. If the story be true that Isis 
devised malt liquors for her own peculiar delectation, 
it may chance to be that Osiris, her husband, felt it his 
duty to discover a remedy for two liberal indulgence, 
and the result may have been off- red to the world in 
the shape of a digestive pill. Be this as it may, doc- 
toring is first heard of in Egypt. The priests took it 
in charge, as they did most other things worth having, 
and turned it to good account. It is likely enough, 
that poisoning enemies divided their attention with 
caring friends. But whatever success may have fol- 
lowed their treatment of living, they certainly knew 
how to ©reserve the dead. Their skill in embalming 
shows them to have possessed a knowledge of drugs, 
and a readiness of hand, that more enlightened prac- 
17 



258 LITTLE WOMEN. 

titiouers have since tried in vain to emulate. Whether, 
therefore, for good or evil, medicine claims an un- 
known Egyptian priest as its first author; and who 
shall say that senna and castor oil may not divide the 
honor of the earliest dose of physic. 



LITTLE WOMEN. 

As a rule, the little woman is brave— "When tne 
lymphatic giantess falls into a faint, or goes off imo 
hysterics, she storms, or bustles about, or holds on 
like a game terrier, according to the worli on hand. 
She will fly at any man who annoys her, and bears 
herself as equal to the biggest and strongest fellow of 
her acquaintance. In general, she does it all by sUeer 
pluck, and is not notorious for subtlety or craft. Had 
Delilah been a little woman, she would never have 
taken the trouble to shear Samson's locks. She would 
have defied him with all his strength untouched on 
his head, and she would have overcome him too. 
Judith aud Jael were both probably large women. 
The work they went about demanded a certain 
strength of mu-cle and toughness of sinew ; but who 
can say that Jezebel was not a small, freckled, auburu- 
l ired Lady Audley of her time, full of the concen- 
trated fire, the electric force, the passionate reckless- 
ness of her type ! Regan and Goaeril might have been 
beautiful demons of the same pattern — we have the 
example of the Marchioness de Brinviliiers, as to what 
amount of spiritual deviltry can exist with the face 
and manner of an angel direct from heaven — and 
perhaps Cordelia was a tall, dark-haired girl, with a 
pair of brown eyes, and a long nose, sloping down- 
ward. Look at modern Jewesses, with tlieir'tiashiug 
oriental orbs, their night black tresses, and the du.^ky 
shadows of their olive-colored complexion. As cata- 
logued properties according to the ideal, they wonld 
be placed in the list of the natural criminals and law- 
breakers, while in reality, they are as meek and 
docile a set of women as are to be found within the 
four seas. Pit a fiei'y little Welch woman or a petu- 
lant Parisienne against the most regal Julianic 
amongst them, and let them try conclusions in courage, 
in energy, or in audacity ; the Israelitish Juuo will go 
down before either of the Philistines, aud the fallacy 
of weight and color in the generation of power will be 
shown without the possibility of denial. Even in 
those old days of long ago, when human character- 



LITTLE WOMEN. 259 

istics were embodied and defined, we do not find that 
the white-armed, larged limbed Hebe, though Queen. 
by right of marriage, li^rded it over her sister-god- 
desses bv auy superior energy or force of nature. On 
the contrary, slie was rather a heavy going person, 
and, UQless moved to anger by her husband's numer- 
ous infidelities, took her Olympian life placidly 
enough, and once or twice got clieated in a way that 
did no great credit to her sagacity. A little French 
woman would have sailed round her easily ; and as 
it was, slirewish though she was in her speech when 
provolved, her husband not only deceived butchastised 
her, and reduced her to penitence and obedience as no 
little woman would have suffered herself to be 
reduced. 

There, is one celebrated race of women who were 
probably the powerfully built, large-limbed creatures 
tliey assumed to have bsen, and as brave and ener- 
getic as they weie strong and big— the Norse women 
of the sages, who for good or evil, seemed to have 
been a very influential element in the old Northern 
life. Prophetesses, physicians, dreamers of dreams, 
and accredited interpreters as well, endowed with 
magic powers, admitted to a share in the councils of 
men, brave in war, active in peace, those fair-haired 
fcjcaudinavian women were the fit comrades of their 
men, the fit wives and mothers of the Bersekers and 
the Vikins. They had no good time or easy life of it, 
if all we hear of them is true. To defend the farm and 
homestead during their husbands' absence, and to 
keep themselves intact against all bold rovers to 
whom the Tenth Commandment was an tinknowa 
law ; to dazzle and bewilder by magic arts when they 
could not conquer by open strength; to unite craft 
and courage, deception and daring, loyalty and inde- 
peudeuce, demand no small amount of opposing 
qualities. But the Steingerdaes and Gudrunas were 
generally equal to any emergency of fate or fortune, 
and slashed their way through the history of the.r 
time more after the manner of men than of women ; 
supplementing their downright blows by side thrusts 
of craftier cleverness when they had to meet power 
with skill, and were fain to overthrow brutality by 
fraud. The Norse women were certainly as largely 
framed as they were mentally energetic, and as crafty 
as either ; but we know of no other women who unite 
the same characteristics, and are at once cunning, 
strong, brave, and true. 

On the whole then, the little women have the best 
of it. More petted than their bigger sisters, and in- 



260 NOW ! 

finitely more powerful, they have their owa way, in 
part because it really does not seem worth wirile to 
contest a poinc with such little creatures. There is 
nothing that woands a man's self-respect in any 
victory they may get or claim. "While there is abso- 
lutely inequality of strength, there can be no humili- 
ation in the self-irnposed defeat of the stronger; and 
as it is always more pleasant to have peace than war, 
and as big men for the most part rather like than not 
to put their necks under the tread of tiny feet, the 
little woman goes on her way triumphant to the end, 
■breaking all the laws she does not like, and throwing 
down all the barriers that impede her progres.-T, 
jjerfectly irresistible and irrepressible in all circum- 
stances and under any considerations. 



NOW! 

I NEVER saw but one hanging in my life. On that 
occasion my duties brought me into close contact with 
the culprit himself. I attended him on the scaffold, 
and was with him to the last. The newspapers de- 
scribed the execution in the usual terms. They did not 
describe what I saw or heard. It may be they wei'e 
justified in not doing so ; it may be, even now when 
public executions have happily become a thing of the 
past, that I am not justified in recording an unpro- 
fessional view of the tragedy I witnessed. My plea is, 
that I have never yet read what has impressed me as 
atruthiul account of any sucli scene. 

As it can serve no possible purpose to mention real 
names, I will simply state that the execution referrel 
to took place in a Northern Assize town, not very re- 
cently. The condemned was an old man of at least 
seventy ; his offence, the brutal murder of an old 
woman, his wife. 

I first saw the old man, say Giles, at seven o'clock 
on the morning in question. He was sitting in his 
cell, his head bent forward, and slowly shaking from 
side to side, not with trepidation, but with the tremu- 
lous palsy of old age that was natural to him. He was 
evidently a man of the dullest sensibilities, and in 
whom feeling had become still more numbed by the 
consciousness of his approaching fate. He had passed 
a good night, and had freely partaken of that hearty 
breakfast which, strangely enough, all such felons do 
partake of for their last. The Governor of the jail 



NOW. 2&1 

entered to bid him farewell and to introduce the 
Sheriff. Giles shook hands with both, he stolid and 
emotionless. There was a little pause. They ex- 
pected some one else. It was the only time Giles 
showed any feeling at all. He stopped shaking, and 
looked furtively but eagerly toward the door. Even 
that was only the emotion of impatience. Calcraft 
entered. A mild, gentle-faced man— short, rather 
stout, with plentiful gray hair. I can see him as I 
write — his eyes full and gray, though small, and 
sweet in their expression. He does not "shamble" 
as he walks, nor does he talk coarsely. He walks 
softly at such times, as in the presence of impending 
deaih, and his voice is by no means unpleasant. His 
walk, his voice, his expression, and his manner, are, 
in fact, completely reassuring. They were so to 
Giles. Having been introduced to his executioner, 
and seen the calm, self-reliant look of his eyes, Giles 
became perfectly calm, and resumed the monotonous 
shaking of his head from side to side. I can testify 
that, whether from age or mental stupor, he was 
the least atfected of us all ; and I am told this is 
usually the case. 

Half-past seven o'clock struck, and the prison-bell 
broke out in a harshly solemn toll. While we were 
getting ready to leave the cell it began — Toll ! As we 
walked along the corridors it went on — Toll! It 
struck upon all our hearts — Toll! except Giles's. 

Having entered the pinioning-room, the chaplain 
began the solemn service for the dead. " I am the 
liesurrection and the Life" — Toll! "Whosoever 
liveth and believeth in Me shall never die" — Toll ! 

Calcraft produced a small black leather portman- 
teau. Opening it, he disclosed his pinions, spare 
straps, and two ropes. The pinion is simply a broad 
leather strap or surcingle to go round the waist, hav- 
ing strong loops on eitiier side, through which are 
passed the straps to secure the elbows. The wrists 
are then fastened by another strap. 

" It's my own invention," Calcraft whispered, with 
some modesty, " the old piuions used to be very bad, 
they hurt the poor fellows so. They used to strap 
their elbows tight behind them and force them togeth- 
er at the back, and then strap the two wrists together. 
This waist strap answers every purpose, and is not 
the least uncomfortable. 

"There," he whispered to Giles (for the chaplain 
still read on), when he had arranged the straps, " that 
doesn't hurt you, my good fellow ?" 

"IS^o sir; it's very comfortable." 



263 Kow. 

And the cTiaplain still read on, and the 1)611 broke 
iu like a solemn amen. "For since by man came 
death " Toll! 

" Shake hands with me, Giles," said the mild man 
with the gray hair ; " say you forgive me. You shall 
not be tortured." 

" I forgive thee, mister!" and he offered his poor 
pinioned hands, like fins, which Calcraft shook 
kindly. ToQ! 

"There's one thing I should lik'ee to do," said 
Giles. 

"Yes," said Calcraft. 

"Wiiree tell I when it's comin''? Thee know 
what I mean." 

" I will," returned the executioner. Toll ! 

The "Lesson" was not yet finished. No one of us 
paid attention to it, or to any of that part of the 
service (least of all did Giles), save when the bell 
struck out like a solemn vo'ce from the sky, "Heed 
that!" Then we remembered the word or two that 
had gone before. To me the reading of the clera^y- 
man souuded like the babble of a dream, and the 
gentle old man, and the pinioned muiderer the only 
realities. (Toll! "And how are the dead raised 
up?") 

I saw Calcraft return to his black portmanteau to 
select the rope. Intent, against my will, more on 
the details of the dreadful tragedy than on the ser- 
vice, that only broke out on me in snatches, I 
pointed to the cord, and whispered: 

"New?" 

"Oh, no; the same I've used these three years." 
(" Changed as in a moment." Toll !) 

" I thought you always had a new rope?" 

"Oh, dear, no." 

"Is it silk?" I had heard so. 

"No; the very best of hemp." 

He gave it into my hand. A supple cord, soft as 
silk, as thick as my "forefinger, (" Oh I grave, where 
is thy victory ?" Toll!) 

" And the cap ?" 

"Ah, yes! It's the Sheriff's — the one they use 
here — but it's a bad one. I would rather use my own. 
Look here" — and he took from tlie portmanteau a 
small bag, like silk, and inserting his hands in it, 
stretched it out to an enormous size—" that's the one, 
if they would only let me use it." It was the only 
professional remark he made. 

The Lesson was done. Toll! Toll! Toll! 

The bell ceased. It was the service by the graveside. 



NOW. 363 

"We joined in procession. "Man that is born of 
woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of 
misery." Chanting this solemn dirge in monotone, 
the chaplain led the way along the passage and up 
a ladder staircase to the prison roof. Giles followed, 
shambling uneasily from the straps about his legs, 
but otherwise in less outward o«Ticern than any of us. 
He seemed to derive relief from that palsied swaying 
of his head which was natural to him. 

As we mounted the scaffold a restless murmur, like 
a great sigh, went through the sea of white upturned 
faces below — then a hush. Calcraft came to the poor 
culprit and drew the cap over his face, to hide the sea 
effaces from his eyes. Then he fixed the rope — with 
long pains to arrange the knot in the most merciful 
place, and to judge the amount of fall. While this 
was doing Giles worked his hands — all that were free 
of them — up and down rapidly in the attitude of 
prayer. The chaplain was reading a prayer. The 
reporters said he prayed. They were wrong. I was 
close to him, and I beard what he said. His words 
were addressed to Calcraft. " Tell me, mister — be I 
goin' now ?" 

" No," said the executioner ; "I'll tell you when." 

The prayer was done. 

"Tell me, mister," said Giles again, "be I goin' 
now .?" 

" No," said Calcraft. " I'll give you a sign. When 
I shake hands with you, you will have just half a 
minute left." 

The chaplain knelt to pray with Giles. Giles did 
not or would not hear. 

"Be I goin' NOW ?" he said. 

Calcraft came and shook his pinioned hand. " God 
bless you!" he said gently, " for it is now !" and he 
slipped away. 

Then the old man woke up ; all his senses quick- 
ened by the knowledge that only o»e-half minute of 
precious life remained — only one-half minute! Till 
now he iiad been numbed and lulled into the belief 
that it was a long way off. Now it was come. He 
broke out, as rapidly as he could gabble: 

'' Oh Lo'-d, have mercy on my poor soul ! Oh. 
Lord, have mercy upon my poor soul ! Oh Lord, 
have " 9 

Cr, chunk! And there was a fall, and something 
was swaying to and fro, to and fro, till at last it be- 
came steady, and twisted from right to left, from left 
to right. And there was the noise of the crowd that 
had been silent, that drew a long sighing breath of 
relief, and woke :ap into life to go about its business. 



264 



OMENS 

Certainly no sensible person really believes in 
ghosts. The idea that the hpirit, the impalpable es- 
sence of either friend or enemy, may return to comfort 
or annoy poor strugt^ling mortals, is ridiculous be- 
yond conception. Notwithstanding, there are very 
few, in the present enlightened nineteenth century 
even, who are free from some taint of superstition? 
The new moon, viewed over the right shoulder, will 
delight the hearts of many, aud the reverse produce 
a feeling of uneasiness even among those who are by 
no means believers in the supernatural. Breaking a 
mirror will oftentimes beget a strange nervous de- 
pression unaccountable as it is undeniable. 

A long list of signs and omens might be enumer- 
ated, and under the different heads all would be able 
to find something applicable to his or her peculiar no- 
tion or superstitious prejudice. There can scarcely 
be found one entirely incredulous in regard to prog- 
nostics. Early education may have not a little to do 
with this visionary tendency ; the transmission from 
one generation to another of these countless whims 
■will account for much that is startling in the pres- 
ent belief of Spiritualists ; for notions, as well as 
ideas, by a natural analogous law, can never stand 
still, and hence the present age finds us a people re- 
plete with facts and fancies, so heterogeneously 
mingled that a separation of the two is impossible. 

We ask our friends to step with us now into the very 
elegant and aristoci'atic establishment of James 
Douglass, Esq. Everything wears a bright and cheer- 
ful appearance, if we except the face of the mistress 
of this palatial residence. Instead of the smiling 
features we would expect to behold peeping from 
behind the coffee urn, Mr. Douglass meets a pair of 
eyes swollen with weeping, quivering lips, and a 
general hysterical appearance, which admonishes 
him that silence on his pa re will be the only prevent- 
ive against an outburst of tears, which he especially 
desires to prevent. So Willie and Maud are treated 
to an unusually animated conversation from their pa- 
ternal parent. 

I shall be home very early this afternoon, dear," 
said Mr. Douglass, rising from the tible, and pur- 
posely avoidinsr his wife's eye. " And we will have a 
nice long ride if you would like." 



OMENS. 265 

" I shall not dare leave the house now, George," and 
the eyes overflowed. 

" Why, what is the trouble now, I should like to 
know? Anything new?" 

" Is it possible that you did not hear that dog howl- 
ing and moaning under the conservatory window all 
last night?" 

" Why, yes, I heard the confounded hound, and if 
I hadn't been so sleepy, would have stopped his noise/ 
with a bullet. But you are not afraid of a dog, I hope ? 
the animal can't get into the house." 

"Oh, George, it is not that. Are you not aware 
that the howling of a dog portends death to some one 
of the family? Oh, dear ! wliich of us will it be?" — 
and the wretched woman threw herself into her 
husband's arms and wept unrestrainedly. 

Mr. Douglass tried to convince her how foolish and 
unwarrantable were her fears, and how miserable 
she made herself and family by such indulgence ; 
but the efl'ort was useless. This was an omen that 
had never failed. When Mrs. Douglass was a young 
girl a dog had moaned in just such a manner under 
her mother's window, and ter darling brother Paul 
died in less than a week. She had seen its truth 
demonstrated in hosts of instances, and now one of 
her own family was threatened. 

The husband lost patience, and declared that who- 
ever had been instrumental in instilling such detest- 
able notions into women's heads deserved the scaffold, 
and left his wife in a paroxysm of grief distressing to 
witness. 

As may be inferred from the preceding description 
of Mrs. D.'s abnormal nervous condition, she had 
very little energy in discipline, fearing to deny her 
children the pleasure accruing from undue physical 
indalgOQce, lest the darlings should be taken from 
her. and she be compelled to regret her unkiudness. 
The reverse of this picture never seemed to be taken 
into consideration. 

''Willie, you must not eat that apple, it will make 
you ill." But ^Viliie would cry and stamp his little 
feet, and mamma, whose weak nerves detested noise, 
and whose weak will was entirely subservient to her 
children's, invariably gave up, and Willie, alter a 
slight skirmish, ate his unripe food, undisturbed by 
further maternal interference. 

A day or two of sorrowful quiet followed the night 
made memorable by canine howls. Mrs. Douglass 
held her darlings a liiils closer, and gratified their 
appetites to the very extent of childish caprice. 



2G6 OMENS. 

Willie, who was very fond of everything indigestible, 
compelled his nurse to make purchases from number- 
less fruit stands of green, gnarly peaches, and dead- 
ripe, sun-spoiled bananas, peanuts and bonbons, too 
numerous to mention. The consequence was, that on 
the evening of the third day, Mr. Douglass returned 
to find his only bay exceedingly ill— with decided 
symptoms of chulera infantum. 

"Have you called the iihysician?" he inquired, 
terrified at the pinched, agonized expression of hia 
darling. 

" I have just sent ; but what is the use? How well 
I knew what that unearthly hoveling portended?" re- 
plied Mrs. D. 

" And so, for the whining of an infernal cur, you 
have given up your child to die, Clara? This is ter- 
rible. You have allowed him to ci'owd his stomach 
with all sorts of stuff, Mary," to the astonished nurse. 
" What has Willie been eating?" 

" Oh, nothing, sir, but bananas and candy." 

" Any peaches or pineapples ?" 

" He had pineapples for his tea yesterday evening, 
and his mamma gave him a peach last night to make 
him stop crying after he went to bed." 

"The howling of a dog!" murmured the stricken 
father, bitterly. "If this child dies, your weakness 
and carelessness will have killed him." 

The physician came hastily; but all medical skill 
was useless. Death, after a few hours, relieved the 
little fellow of his misery. No argument could con- 
vince this deluded woman that her own want of at- 
tention had the remotest bearing on the child's ill- 
ness and death. A dog had howled under the win- 
dow at night, the omen was verified, that was the 
truth, and she saw nothing beyond it. After a while, 
time (great healer) softened the poignancy of the 
fathers grief, but he could never again legard his 
wife with the same loving respe.;t. Once these no- 
tions seemed the result of early training and consti- 
tutional nervousness, and consequently excusable ; 
but now they had grown, by constant nursing, into 
faults of the "first magnitude. The pride of his heart 
had been snatched from him by a fatalistic theory, 
which bade fair to prove as ruinous to conjugal luip- 
piness as it had to the wife's peace of mind. Mrs. 
Douglass grew moody, irritable, and more blindly 
superstitious than ever. Maude, next younger than 
Willie, was a very mischievous and very spoiled 
child. Especially since the death of her brother had 
she been exempt from all discipline ; aud the father 



OMENS. 267 

groaned in bitterness of spirit that he was powerless 
to prevent the utter rain of his cliildren's natures. 

I'ive years after the burial of little Willie, Mr. Doug- 
lass returned :o his home, as on uiauy former occasions, 
to find his wife in strong liysterics, and the servants 
frightened out of their wits. The elegant pier-glass 
was a wrecii ; Mr. Douglass had only purchased it a 
few days before, and now, as if a stone had struck the 
centre and shivered it to the edge of the frame, it stood, 
shorn of its b;-auty and its power. Thedrawiug-rooms 
were unoccupied at the time of the accident, but a tre- 
mendous crash, almost like an explosion, had brought 
every juember of the family to the parlor. 

"Don't weep, Clara; don't weep! Good gracious, 
I can buy another." 

'■'■Don't you know it is not the loss of the mirror? 
Another omen! Oh, good heavens! who will it be 
this time? " 

Mr. Douglass could not repress a shudder. Memory 
brought back his darling boy, and he lived over agaiu 
the distressing sickness, and unnecessary death. 

" Clara, I beseech of you to conquer this emotion, 
and behave iu a sensible manner. Do not allow this 
mirror-breaking to render you so unhappy as to be 
incapacitated lot- the care and guidance of your little 
family. It is simply damnable," he continued, find- 
ing prayers and entreaties availed nothing, " to allow 
children to become the victims of such terrible delu- 
sions ! Your father and mother, Clara, ought to have 
been burned at the stake." But Mrs. Dougiass heard 
nothing, felt nothing, but the awful signihcance of the 
shattered minor. 

Two or three months glided along peacefully. A new 
mirror was substituted, and Mr. Douglass had almo-t 
forgotten the accident. Business called him to Wash- 
ington. It was tlie month of November— culd and dis- 
agreeable. Maude was invited to a children's party 
among the fashionables. The little self-willed beauty 
in-isted upon a low-neck dress with sh' >rt sleeves. The 
indulgent mother, fearing to oppose the strong will, 
held out for a Utile while, and then Maude had her 
own way. High-necked flannels were removed, and 
the delicate chest exposed to the inclement weather. 
Mrs. Douglass was very proud of her little daughter 
that evening. She was the belle of the occasion. Three 
days after Mr. Douglass, in obedience to a telegram, 
burst into the chamber where his precious daughter, in 
the arms of her mother, lay breathing her last. 

"What is it, Clara? for God's sake, speak! What 
caused it? " 



268 JENKIN. 

" OTa, George! liave you forgotten the mirror? I 
felt then that Maude would be the victim." 

The father's indignation can better be imagined than 
described when he discovered that congestion of the 
lungs, which had so quickly terminated the life of his 
little daughter, had been superinduced by cruel ex- 
posure on the night of the party. 

There is no more happiness in that circle; and Mrs. 
Douglass believes more firmly than ever in omens. 



J EN Kl N. 

There was a chimney Elf in .Tenkin's house, a wee 
old woman, who was always dressed in smoke color, 
and who was always knitting spider's silk stockings ; 
and one day, when the kitchen was still and sunny, 
and the fire was clear and bright, she slipped out of 
the chimney, knitting in hand, for a sly talk with the 
Kettle. 

Just as she was seating herself on the poker, she 
heard something like this: "Aieah! Don't! Oh! 
Stop! Eee! Mother!" 

"Mercy ! what is that ' " .cried the Chimney Elf. 

"Only'jenkin teasing his sister again," answered 
the Kettle. 

"Oh I that is it?" and tlie Chimney Elf put on her 
spectacl"es. Now, these were fairy 'spectacles, and 
with them on her nose, the Elf cuuld look straight 
through the ceiling into the nursery, where Jenkiu 
was leasing his sister. How was he'ieasing her ? He 
was twitching her, nudging her elbow, and making 
her drop her needle, pulling three little hairs of a curl 
at a time till she screamed ; dancing about her, and 
laughing, and at every jerk and squeal saying, " Oh, 
how fauuy you are! If you only could see how droll 
you do look!" 

"I see," said the Elf, "he needs me in his pocket." 

"What do you mean by that?" asked the Kettle, 
but this queer little old woman had already folded up 
lier knitting, and slipped through the key hole. 

Where was she going? To the drawing room, 
where were some ladies whom Jenkin had just been 
called to see. Jenkin sat on a chair, with his hair 
fresh brushed, his cheeks like rosy apples, and hold- 
ing himself very straight; and he looked so sweet 
and behaved so well, that you could never have 
believed thit such a boy would tease a girl, and that 
girl his sister ! The ladies were talking, and Jenkin, 



JENKIN. 269 

having nothing better to do, was looking at the door. 
So he saw the Chimney Eif coming through the key- 
hole. 

" What is coming now?" thought Jenkin, for the 
Chimney Elf never made her appearance except on 
business. The little old woman smoothed down her 
smoke-colored dress, and walked up to Jenkin, who 
began to feel nervous, and looked at his mother. But 
his mother was talking, and saw nothing. The Chim- 
ney Elf looked Jenkin straight in the eye for a mo- 
ment, and — dived into his pocket! 

Jenkin gave a light squeal. 

" Jenkin !" said his mother, reprovingly. 

" If you say a word, 1 will turn you into a pair of 
tongs," whispered the Elf, giving Jenkin a great pinch 
on the leg. 

Jeukin jerked. 

"Creep mouse! creep mouse!" whispered the Elf, 
tickling him, and running up and down his leg, in a 
way tliat tilled him with little chills and shudders. 

Jenkin wriggled. 

" Oh, what fun !" said the Elf, running up his back 
and pulling two small hairs in his neck. 

Jenkin gave a great bounce. 

"Jenkin, leave the room," said his mother, muct. 
ashamed of all this twisting and bouncing. 

" It ain't my " 

"Fault," Jenkin was going to say, but— "Would 
you like a brass knob when you are a pair of tongs?" 
whispered the Elf, and Jenkin cried instead. 

"He! he! he !" tittered the Elf ; and as soon as the 
drawing-room door was shut, she got out of his 
pocket and danced around him, making little darts 
and snatches at him. 

" If you could only see yourself! The corners of 
your mouth turn down, and your eyes are shut up 
tight, and your nose is all in wrinkles, and you do 
look so funny, "declared this terrible little old woman, 
laughing and clapping her hands. 

But just then a door opened, through which she 
vanished. 

Jenkin rubbed his eyes, and then he sat down and 
began to think how odd it Avas that the Chimney Elf 
should serve him just as he had served his sister; 
and then he thought that it, perhaps, would be better 
not to tease so much ; and, after that, he was a good 
boy for a week. But one day he was coming down 
hill, and May was afraid of the ice ; and Jenkin 
thought what fools girls were to be always afraid, and 
to mince so! And then he thought she should be 



270 JE^-KIN. 

made to do better ; and tl;ea he ran her down hill, 
and she screamed and he laughed, till they had quite 
reached their own door. Bat in the dour Jenkin's 
heart went down like lead, for there stood the Chim- 
ney Elf. 

"I see," she said, briskly, "we must have a little 
more fun to-day," and with that, Jeukin found himself 
on the ceiling — walking there, head downwards, like 
the flies ! 

"Murder!" roared Jenkin, throwing out his hands, 
and trying to catch hold uf something, while his feet 
went oa walking, walking, all over tiie ceiling. "Oh ! 
ah! yow!" and he shook his kuees and tried to stop 
himself, and even to tumble down. 

"What fools boys are to scream and mince so! 
They should be made to do better," s-iid the Elf, seiz- 
ing Jenkin by the arm, and running him along the 
ceiliug. 

"Oh, what a dreadful position!" Jeukin bellowed 
so loudly chat his father came running. But when he 
reached the door, Jenkin was on his feet, and quite 
alone. 

" What are you crying about?" asked the father. 

Jenkin looked toward the chimney, and saw the 
Chimney Elf shaking her head at him. 

"Nothing," whispered Jenkin. 

" It would be a pity to make such a noise like that 
for nothing," cried the father, who thought that 
Jenkin haa played him a trick, and Jenkin got a 
whipping. 

Jenkin began to think that really he must not 
tease May again, and he was very good for a pro- 
d.giously loug time — say a month. Bat one day, as 
she was trying to draw a house, Jenkiu came and 
looked at her. 

'•Please don't look just now," said May, 

"I don't see what harm there is in looking," 
answered Jeukin. 

"Oh, Jeukin, I can't draw," cried May, "please 
wait till it is done." 

By this time Jenkin had discovered that it was fine 
fun CO look, and he put his head down so close that 
his nose touched his sister's ; and when she moved he 
followed her, and when she ran he ran too, laughing 
and looking in her face all the way. 

Suddenly, with a hop, skip aud jump, a little old 
woman in a smoke-colored gown lighted on his shoul- 
der; and stepping on the edge of his collar, aud hold- 
ing on by his ear aud nose, looked stniighc into his 
eyes, ' 



THE WANDERING JEW. 271 

"Get out!" cried Jenkin, sc2,red out of his "wits. 

"I am only looking-," answered the Elf. 

" But I don't like it," said Jenkin. 

'•What harm is there?" insisted the old woman. 

"Jenkin, come to dinner," called his mother. 

Jenkin went at once, for he hoped tliut 8om»-body 
would take the Elf away; but nobody seemed to se.e 
her; and she held on by his ear and lookeil at him! 
and she swaug herself from his hair, and looked at 
him! and stood on his plate, and looked, and looked 
at him ! and when he got a book she sat on the top of 
that, and looked at him, laughing all the time ; anil 
when he jvent to play, she stood in his ear, and 
stretched around, and peeped at him; and when lie 
began to undress himself, what do you think she did '>. 
Why, she perched herself on his pillow, and prepared 
to look at him all night! 

But here Jenkin began to cry. 

"And I won't tease May ever again," said Jenkin. 
"I didn't know it plagued so just to look; and oh, 
dear, good Mrs. Chimney Elf, do please go away, and 
try me just this once, and you will see I will be good." 

"See that you are," answered the Elf, sternly , but 
on her way up the chinmey wiped her eyes more than 
once, for she was sorry for Jenkin after all ; and 
meeting the Dream-man, she sent Jenkin, oh, such a 
beautiful dream, that he forgot all his troubles. 

But he never teased May again' 



REAPPEARANCE OFTHE WANDERING JEW. 

On Wednesday last the little village of Hart's Cor- 
ners, located on the Harlem Eailroad, about twenty- 
four miles from New York, was tilled with the greatest 
commotion in consequence of a report that the verita- 
ble "Wandering Jew " had suddenly appeared in that 
place. The village lies about a mile and a half south 
of White Plains, and the chief public building of the 
hamlet consists of a two-storied wooden house, known 
as the Post-ofiice, and another immediately opposite, 
remarkable as being the monument of sevei al deceased 
hotels. The former is not only a Pust-office, but is 
also a railroad station, a variety shop, and a place of 
general resort for crude philosuphers aud rustic poli- 
ticians. The Bronx river flows immtdiately behind 
it, and the rails of the Harlem road lie immediately in 
front. The greatest stir that ordinarily happens in the 
quaint little village is the arrival and departure of the 



273 THE WANDERING JEW. 

trains, and tlie main subjects of discnssion are, the 
price of oats, and tiie cliauces as to the next fail of raiu. 
it may easiiy be imagined, tlieuefore, tliat tlie advent 
of sucii an extraordinary character as a veritable, 
Simou-pura " Wander. ng Jew," was every way cal- 
calated to fill the hamlet with amazement, and to 
cause each particular inhabitant to " stand on end, 
like quills upon the fretful porcupine." 

It appears that, on Wednesday last, as a brace of 
urchins, named John Wilkius and Walter Bains, 
■were passing along the east side of the river, ou the 
way to the dam, for the purpose of catching fish, their 
attention was suddenly arrested by a deep groan. 
Near this spot, at intervals of about a hundred yards, 
are a number of old powder-houses, long since de- 
serted, and a short distance beyond lie the blackened 
ruins of a mill, which was used in the manufacture of 
that article. The groan seeming to emanate from one 
ot those shanties, the boys hastened towards the door- 
less entrance, and they soon discovered a strange- 
looking patriarch in long, black, sweeping garments, 
and with an immense white beard, seated in one 
corner, and moaning as if in pain. Inqiiiring what 
was the matter, the boys approached with a view of 
rendering assistance, iiut as they came very near to 
him, he tightened his clutch ou a very long staff 
which lay at his side, and suddenly lifting his eye-, 
''flashed a look upon them," as the boys ex[iressed it, 
"that made them feel as if they had bet.n suddenly 
struck with chain lightning." So frightened were 
they at his unnatural aspect, that, simultaneously 
dropping their fishing-rods, they darted from the 
place, and never stopped to take breath until tbeyhad 
crossed the adjacent bridge, and dashed headlong into 
the midst of a lazy group assembled at the Post-ofllce. 

As soon as they had related what they had seen, a 
number of men started for the powder-houses, piloted 
by the boys, and there, ,suie enough, discovered one 
of the most singular beings that ever threw a crowd 
into amazemeut and consternation. He had a great, 
crooked nose, and large ears, with finger nails about 
an inch long; but the great peculiarity about him wa? 
his unnaturally large and piercing black eyes. When 
ever he looked straight at one, it seemed as if a shock 
of electricity darted through and through the entirt 
body. Again the inquiry was made as to what ailed 
him, when, in a sepulchral tone, he replied that lu 
had fallen on a stone, and severely injured his leg 
Being then asked where he resided, he replied: 

" Nowhere! 1 have no home ; I have no rest." 



THE WANDERIXG JEW. 273 

"Have you no friends?" inquired another. 

"None!" was tlie reply. " My last friend departed 
long ere the light of Heaven illumined the soul of the 
oldest among you, and the voice of the only one I 
loved was stifled in the dust of the tomb before print- 
ing was invented, or America had echoed to the cry 
of liberty." 

Here the crowd immediately backed away from 
him, and while some significantly touched their fore- 
heads, an ill-suppressed whisper of " cracked " burst 
from several lips 

"Cracked, indeed!" he replied, with quiet dignity, 
"to suppose that now, any more than in times past, I 
can hope to impress a belief in what I tell you upon 
the stolid and unbelieving minds of wretched and de- 
generate men. But if you will not believe me, why 
have you come here ? " 

"We have come," was the reply, "because we 
heard there was a man in trouble, and we expected to 
otfer you assistance." 

" I thank you ; but 'tis in vain. Man cannot assist 
me, and Heaven will not. Since I left Siberia, you are 
the first that have even extended to me a word of com- 
fort." 

"Siberia?" 

"Yes. I crossed to America by Behring's Straits, 
and from the time I began my weary journey through 
the snowy plains and ice-covered mountains of the 
Esquimaux, through the wastes of Alaska, and the 
timbered wilderness of the States, I have never till 
now been the recipient of one kind word. But 1 can- 
not tarry — I must on, on, on!" Here he raised him- 
self from the heap of straw upon whicli he had bt'ea 
resting, and limping toward the door, remarked, as he 
shook his snowy beard, with a tone of indescribabie 
sadness, "You have spoken kindly to me, and in 
kindness I depart. In token of good feeling let me say 
to you, send no more vessels in search of your de- 
parted Franklin. These feet have traversed the snow 
above his grave — these eyes have beheld tue boat in 
which he peri-shed." 

Then, with a majestic bow of his pale face, and a 
wave of his claw-like hand, he girded up his loins 
and swiftly disappeared, leaving the party rooted to 
the sjjot in awe and consternation. 

In his hasty departure, the mysterious occupant of 
the powder-hoirse left behind him a well-thumbed vol- 
time, in Hebrew characters, consisting of extracts from 
the Jewish book known as the Babylonian " Talmud." 
which is now in. possession of' Michael O'Grady, 
IS 



274 IDEAL WOMAN OF MIDDLE AGE. 

switch-tender, who is also the proprietor of a small 
farm within a stone's throw of the station. On the 
fly-leaf of this volume is written the following ac- 
count of the mysterious being who, for many cen- 
turies, has been regarded as a veritable entity, and 
designated, in various languages, as the "Wandering 
Jew:" 

" Ah?,suerus, the accused, or never-dying, was born 
of the tribe of Napthali, some seven or eight years be- 
fore the Christian era. It is narrated that he was the 
son of a shoemaker, and that in early life he mani- 
fested his perversity by running away from his lather 
to accompany the three wise men, or kings, who were 
guided by a star to the manger at Beihlehem. Re- 
turning to Jerusalem, his stories of what he had seen, 
and of ihe rich presents which the Eastern monarchs 
conferred upon the child, were the cause of the massa- 
cre of the innocents. He was also employed as a car- 
penter on the cross destined for the passion of Christ, 
who passed his workshop on the way to Calvary. 
The soldiers begged him to allow the Saviour to enter 
for a few moments' rest, but he not only refused, but 
spat upon him. Then Christ bade him traverse the 
entire earth, without the possibility of stopping or 
resting, until the second coming. In his ceaseless 
wanderings since that time, he has in vain soiight 
death, and all the greatest dantjers and calamities to 
which human life is subject. The legend first appears 
in the chronicle of Matthew Paris, in the thirteenth 
century, where he is called Cartiphilus, and said to 
have been a servant of Pilate. His name in the latter 
form of the legend is Ahasuerus." 



THE IDEAL WOMAN OF MIDDLE AGE. 

With the ideal woman of middle age— that pleasant 
woman with her happy face and softened manner, 
who unites the charms of both epochs, retaining the 
ready responsiveness of youth while adding the 
wider sympathies of experience — with her there has 
never been any such struggle to make herself an 
anachronism. Consequently, she remains beautiful to 
the last— far more beautiful than all the partes and 
washes in Madame Rachel's shop could make her. 
Sometimes, if rarely in these latter days, we meet her 
in society, where she carries with her an atmosphere 
of her own — an atmosphere of honest, wholesome 
truth and love, which makes every one who enters it 
purer and better for the time. All childroa and all 



IDEAL WOMAN OF MIDDLE AGE. 275 

yoTiiig persons lovp her because she understancls and 
loves them. For she is essentially a mother^-that is, 
a woman who can forget herself, who can give with- 
out asking to receive, and who, without losing any 
of that individualism which belongs to self-respect-, 
can yet live for and in the lives of others, and find 
her best joy in the well-being of those about her. 
There is no servility, no exaggerated sacrifice in this; 
it is simply the fulfilment of woman's highest duty 
— the expression of that grand maternal instinct which 
need not necessarily include the fact of personal ma- 
ternity, buc which must find :itterance in some line of 
unselfish action with all women worthy of the name. 
The ideal woman of middle age understands the 
young because she has lived with them. If a mother, 
she has performed her maternal duties with cheerful- 
ness and love. There has been no giving up her nur- 
sery to the care of a hired servant, who is expected to 
do for £20 a year what the tremendous instinct of a 
mother'^; love cannot find strength to do. 

When she had children, she attended to them iu 
great pare herself, andlearned all about their tempers, 
their maladies, and the best methods of management ; 
as they grew up, she was still the best friend they 
had, the Prov deuce of their young lives who gave 
them both care and justice, both love and guidance. 
Such a manner of life has forced her to forget herself. 
When her child lay ill, perhaps dying, she had no 
heart and no time to think of her own appearance, 
and whether this dressing-gown was more becoming 
than that ; and what did the doctor think of her with, 
her hair pushed back from her face; and what a 
fright she must have looked in the morning light 
after her sleepless night of watching. The world and 
all its petty pleasures and paltry pains faded away in 
the presence of the stern tragedy of the hour; and 
not the finest ball of the season seemed to be worth a 
thought compared to the all-absorbing question of 
whether her child slept after his draught and whether 
he ate his food with a better appetite. And such a 
life, in spite of all its cares, has kept her young as 
well as unselfish. ; we should rather say, young because 
unselfish. 

As she comes into her room with her daughters, her 
kindly face unpolluted by paint, her dress picturesque 
or fashionable according to her taste, but decent in. 
form and consistent in tone with her age, it is often re- 
marked that she looks more like their sister than 
their mother. This is because she is in harmony with 
their age, and has not, therefore, put herself in rivalry 



276 THREE BRAVE MEN. 

■bet-vveen them; and barmonyis the vpry keystone of 
beauty, ller hair may be streaked with ^bite, the 
girlish firmness and transparency of her skin is <;one, 
the pearly ciearn' ss of her eye is clouded, and the 
blender grace of line is lost, but for all that she is 
beautiful, and she is intrinsically youns,'. "What she 
has lost in outside material charm, she has gained in 
character and expression; and not attempting to 
simulate the attractiveness of a girl, she keeps what 
nature gave her — the attractiveness of middle-age. 
And as every epoch has its own beauty, if woman 
would but learn that truth, she is as beautiful now as 
the matron of fifty, because in harmony with her 
peers, and beciuse her beauty has been carried ou 
from matter to spirit, as when a maid of sixteen. 
This is the ideal woman of middle age, met with even 
yet at times in society— the woman whom all men re- 
spect, whom all women envy, and wonder how she 
does it, and whom all the young adore, and wish they 
had her for an elder sister ur an aunt. And the secret 
of it all lies in the truth, in love, in parity, and in 
unselfishness. — Review. 



THREE BRAVE MEN. 

Pretty Barbara Ferros would not marry Her mother 
was in consternation. "Why are you so stubborn, 
Barbara ?" she asked. "Tou have plenty of lovers." 

"But they don't suitme," said Barbara, coolly tying 
her curls before the mirror. 

"Why not?" 

"I want, when I marry, a man who is brave — equal 
to any emergency, if I give up my liberty, I want to 
be taken care of." 

" Silly child ! What is the matter with big Barney, 
the blacksmith?" 

" He is big, but I never learned that he was brave." 

"And you never heard that he was not. What is 
the matter with Ernest, the gunsmith?" 

" He's as placid as goat's milk." 

"That is no sign he is a coward. There is little 
Fritz, the tanner, he is quarrelsome enough for you, 
surely." 

" He is no bigger than a bantam cock. It is little he 
could do if the house was set upon by robbers." 

" It is not always strength that wins a fight, girl. 
It takes brain as well as brawn. Come now, Barbara, 
give these fellows a fair trial." 



THREE BRAVE MEN. 27? 

Barbara turned her face before the mirror, letting 
down one raven tress and looping up another. "I 
will, mother," said she at last. 

That evening Ernest, the gunsmith, knocked early 
at the door. "You sent for me, Barbara," he said, 
going to the girl, who stood upon the hearth, coquet- 
tishly warming one pretty foot and then the other. 

" Yes, Ernesc," she replied, " I've been thinking of 
what yoa said the other night when you were here." 

" Well, Barbara?" 

Ernest spoke quietly, but his dark blue eyes 
flashed, and he looked at her intently. 

" I want to lest you." 

*' How?" 

"I want to see if you dare do a very disagreeable 
thiuor." 

"What is it?" 

" There is an old coffin up-stairs. It smells of mould. 
They say Reemond, the murderer, was baried in it ; 
but the devil came for his body and left the coffin 
empty at the end of a week, and it was fiaally taken 
from the tomb. It is up-stairs in the room my grand- 
father died in, and they say grandsire does not rest 
easy in hi« grave, for some renson, though that I know 
nothing aboat. Dare you make that your bed to- 
night?" 

Ernest laughed. " Is that all ? I will do that and 
sleep souudly. Why, pretty one, did you think 1 had 
weak nerves?" 

" Year nerves will have good proof if you under- 
take it. Kemember no one sleeps in that part of the 
house." 

" I shall sleep the sounder." 

"Good night, then. 1 will send a lad to show you 
the chamber. If y-'U stay tiiere all night," said the 
imperious Miss Barbara, "I will marry yoa." 

"You vow it?" 

" I vow it." 

Ernest turned straightway and followed the lad in 
waitinaf through the dim rooms and pas-iages, up 
eclioing stairs, along narrow, damp ways, where rats 
scuttled before them, to a low chamber. The boy 
looked pale and scared and evidently wanted to hurry 
away, but Ernest made him wait until he took a sur- 
vey of the room by the aid of his lamp. It was very 
large and full of recesses, with high windows in them, 
which were barred across. He rememberpd that old 
Grandsire Ferros had been insane for several years 
before bis death, so that this precaution had been nec- 
essary for the safety of himself and others. In the 



278 THREE BRAVE MEN. 

centre of the room stood a coffin ; beside it was 
placed a chair. The room was otherwise quite empty. 

Ernest stretched himself in the coffin. " Be kind 
enough to tell Miss Barbata that it's a g 'Od fit," said 
he. The hoy went out and shut the door, leaving the 
gunsmith alone in the dark. Meanwhile Brtrhnra was 
talking with the blacksmith in the keeping-room. 

" Barney," said she, pulling her hands away from his 
gra-p, wheu he would have kissed her, "I've a test to 
put you to before I give you any answer. There is a 
corpse lying in the chamber where my grandsire died, 
in the untenanted wing of the house. If you dare to 
sit with it there all night, and let nothing drive you 
away from your post, you will not ask me to marry 
you in vain." 

" You give me a light and a bottle of wine and a 
book to read ?" 

"Nothing." 

'■ Are these all the conditions you can offer me, Bar- 
bara?" 

" All. And if you get frightened, you need never 
look me iu the face again." 

" I'll take them, then." 

So Barney was conducted to his post by the lad, who 
had been instructed in the secret, and whose voluntary 
stare at Ernest's placid (ace as it lay in the coffin was 
interpreted by Barney to be the natural awe of a corpse. 
He took his seat, and the boy left him alone with the 
darkness and the rats and the coffin. 

Soon after, young Fritz, the tannei-, arrived, flattered 
and hopeful from the fact that Barbara had sent for 
him. 

"Have you changed your mind, Barbara?" he 
asked. 

"No; and I shall not until I know that you can do 
a really brave thing." 

" What shall it be? I swear to satisfy you, Bar- 
bara." 

" I have a proposal to make you. My plan requires 
skill as well as courage." 

"Tell me." 

" Well, in this house is a man watching by a corpse. 
He has sworn not to leave his post until morning. If 
you can make him do it, I shall be satisfied that you 
are as smart and as brave as I require a husband 
to be." 

"Why, nothing is so easy," exclaimed Fritz. "I 
can scare him away. Furnish me with a sheet, show 
me the room, and go to your rest, Barbara. You will 
find me at the post in the morning." 



THREE BUAVE MEN. 279 

Barbara did as he required, and saw the tanner step 
blithely away to his ta.^lc. It was then nearly twelve 
o'clock, and she sought her own chamber 

Barney had been sitt.ug- at his vigil, and so far all 
had been well. The niglit seemed very long, for he 
had no mean-< of counting tlie time. At times a thrill 
went through him, fnr it seemed to him as if he could 
hear low, suppressed breathing not far away ; but he 
persuaded himself that it was the wind blowing 
through the crevices of the old house. Still it was 
very lonely and not at all cheerful. 

The face iu the coffln gleamed whiter through the 
darkness. The rats squeaked as if famine was upon 
them and they smelled flesh. The thought made him 
shudder. He got up and walked about, but something 
made a slight noise, as if somebody was behind him, 
and he put his chair with the back against the wall 
and sat down attain. 

He had been hard at work all day, and, in spite of 
everything, he grew sleepy. Finally he nodded and 
snored. 

Suddenly it seemed as if somebody had touched him. 
He awoke with a start but saw nobody near, though 
in the centre of the room stood a white figure. " Curse 
you, get out of this!" he exclaimed in a fright, using 
the very first words that came to his tongue. The 
figure held up its right arm and slowly approached 
him. He started to his feet. The spectre came nearer, 
pressing him into a corner. "The devil take you!" 
cried Barney, in his great extremity. 

Involuntarily he stepped back. Still the figure ad- 
vanced, coming nearer and nearer and extending both 
arms. The hair started upon Barney's head ; he grew 
desperate, and, as the gleaming arms would have 
touched him, he fell upon the ghost like a whirlwind, 
tearing off the sheet, thumping and pounding, beiting 
and kicking, more and more enraged at the resistance 
he met, which told him the truth. 

As the reader knows, he was big and Fritz was little, 
and while pummelling the little tanner unmercifully, 
and Fritz was trying to lunge at Barney's stomach, to 
take the wind out of him, both plunging and kicking 
like horses, they were petrified by hearing a voice 
cry: 

"Take one of your size, big Barney!" 
Looking around, they saw the corpse sitting np in 
his cofiin. This was too much, they released each 
other and sprang for the door. They never knew how 
they got out ; but they ran home in haste, paating 
like stags. 



3S0 LOVE A GIVER. 

It was Barbara herself who came and opened the 
door upon Ernest the next morning. 

" It'd very early; one more lictle nap," said he, 
turning over in his coffia. 

So she married him, and though she sent Fritz and 
Barney invitations to the wedding, they did not ap- 
pear. If they discovered the trick, they kept the 
knowledge to themselves, and never willingly faced 
Barbara's laughing eyes again 



LOVE A GIVER. 
A Family Lesson on Selfishness. 

"Top are a selfish man!" 

The words leaped out with quick, angry impulse. 
There was a frown on the beautiful face, and a flame 
that was not of love in the bright eyes. 

If tKQ soft hand laid so tru!«tingly in his scarcely 
three months before, had struck iiim a stunning blow, 
Alfred Wiliiston could not have been more surprised 
or huvii. "Selfish!" It was the first time that sin 
had been laid at his door. "He's a generous fellow." 
"The most unselfish man alive." "There's not a 
mean ^irait in his character." Such things had been 
said of him over and over again, repeated in his ears 
by partial and interested friends, until he had almost 
believed himself the pei-sonation of unselfishness, and 
now to be called " a selfish man," by the sweet rose- 
bud mouth, that looked as if only made for kisses — to 
be called "a selfish man," by "her to whom he had 
given all he had in the world, and himself in the bar- 
g^ain. No wonder Alfred Wiliiston stood dumb before 
his pretty wife. 

The accusation was made, and for good or for evil it 
must stand. No taking back the words could take 
back their meaning. " Yoir're a selfish man," had 
been cut, by sharply uttered tones, deep into his 
memory, and there the sentence would remain. He 
did not attempt to meet the charge. 

To have done so would have been felt as a degrada- 
tion. 

"Good morning, dropped coldly from his lips, and 
he went away without otfering the usual parting kiss. 
It was showery at home, and cloudy at the office, for 
the greater part of the forenoon. 

" What's the matter, my frieud ? You look as sober 



LOVE A GIVER. 2Sl 

as a judge on sentence day!" remarked an acquaint- 
ance who called upon Williston. 

" Look about as I feel," was moodily answered. 

"Heigh-ho! moon in the rainy quarter already!" 
rejoined the visitor familiarly, with a sly, provoking 
laugh. 

Williston turned Ms face partly aside, that its ex- 
pression might be concealed. 

"Sunshine and shower — summer and winter — you 
will have these alternations like the rest of mankind, 
and learn to bear with philosophy." 

"Do you think me a very selfish man, Edward?" 
asked Williston, turning upon his friend a serious 
face. 

"Selfish? Oh, dear! >'o, not very selfish. I have 
heard you called the most generous fellow alive. But 
we're more or Jtss selfish you know; born so, and 
can't help it, unless we try harder thau it is agreeable 
to most people. There was a timB when I had a very 
good opinion of myself as touching things ; but I 
grow less and less satisfied every day ; and aiu settling 
down into the conclusion that 1 am no better than my 
neighbors." 

" Well, I despise a selfish man. He is the meane-t 
man alive!" Williston spoke with, a glow of indig- 
nation. 

" He's mean just in the degree that he's selfish," 
replied the friend. "And, as we are all more or less 
selfish, 1 don't see how we are to get away from that 
conclusion." 

Williston knitted his brows like one annoyed or 
perplexed. 

"Has anybody called you selfish?" asked the 
fri-end. ' 

"Yes." 

"Who? The little darling at home? Ha! I see it. 
That's the trouble!" 

The young husband's color betrayed the fact. 

" She called you selfish ? Ha ! Good for Margery ! 
Not afraid to give things their right name. 1 always 
knew she was a girl of spirit. Selfish! That's inter- 
esting. Aud did you really fancy that you were 
unselfish?" 

This half-in-pout, half-in-earnest speech had the 
effect intended. A slight glimpse of himself, as seen 
by another's eyes, gave Williston a new impression, 
and let in a doubt as to his being aitou'ether perfect. 

"And you think me selfish? he said, in a tone of 
surprise. Well ! I guess there's beeu a new dictionary 
published of late." 



a»a LOYE A GIVER. 

**As far as this world is concerned, the heart is the 
most reliable dictionary. If you wish to get the true 
deflnitiou look into your heart," replied the friend. 

"My eyes are not, perhaps, as sharp as yours," 
said Willi.stou. "I don't find the definition there." 

"Mayhe I can help you to a clear definition. Why 
did you marry Margeiy ?" 

" Becaus i 1 loved her." 

"Are you quite sare," said his friend with provok- 
ing calmne-s. 

" Take care, Edward! I shall get angry." 

" no. You're too sensible, and too well poised to 
do that. Answer my question. Are you sure?" 

"As sure as death." 

"It's my opinion that you married because you 
loved yourself more than you did Margery." 

'■ N iw this goes beyond all endurance!" exclaimed 
Williston. " Is there a conspiracy against me?" 

"Gently, gently, my friend. The mind is never 
clear when disturbed. You love Margy. There is no 
doubt in the World of that. Loved her, and do love 
her very dearly But is your love unselfish? That 
is the great question now at issue. A boy loves a 
ripe peach, and climbs af er it that he may enjoy its 
flavor. In what does your love of Margy differ from 
this boy's love of the peach? Was it to bless the 
sweet maiden — to give her yourself — that you sought 
her witb a lover's ardor? Or, was it to bless your- 
self? Did you think how much she would enjoy your 
love — how much happiness you would give her? Or, 
dd you think chiefiy of your own joy? Don't frown 
so! Put away that injured look. Go down like a 
man into your consciousness, and see how it really is. 
If you find all right, then stand firm in serene self- 
approval ; if all is not right then you will know what 
to do. Love seeks to bless its object— is all the while 
endeavoring to minister delight — is a perpetual giver." 

The hot flashes began to die out of Williston's face. 
He was looking into his heart, and getting sorcie new 
revelations of himself, and they were not satisfactory. 
How had he loved Margy? What had been the 
quality of his love? Never before had such questions 
intruded themselves; never before had he found 
queries so diflicult to answer. A deep sigh attested 
his disappointment in his self-investigation. 

"I don't know whether to be angry or grateful," 
he said, knitting his brow. " Is it a true or false 
mirror you are holding up before me? Is the spec- 
trum growing more and more distinct, an image of 
myself? I am in doubt and confusion." 



LOVE A GIVER. 283 

"Love is a gfiver," answered his friend. "Does 
not think of itself— desires only to bless. If you have 
so loved Margy, then has she wronged you. But if 
you have thought mainly of yourself, of your own 
delight, then, 1 rrow, the dear little woman was not 
so far wrong, when she called you selfish." 

"The thing is certain," said Williston, speaking 
soberly. "I take pleasure in giving her pleasure. 
Any want that she might express, I would gratil'y if 
in my power. I could not deny her anything." 

'Except the denial of yourself," remarked the 
friend. 

Their eyes met, and they looked intently at each 
other for some moments. 

" I am not sure that I understand you," said 
Willistoa. 

" If Murgy wanted a set of Amoor sables, costing a 
thousand dollars, and you had the money with which 
to buy them, her desires would be gratified ?" 

" Undoubtoily, I would find pleasure in meeting her 
wishes," was promptly answered. 

" If she had a fancy for diamonds, or India shawls 
— for elegant furnitare and pictures — and you had the 
means to gratify her tastes, you would find delight in 
giving her the possession of these things. You would 
let her have her own sweet will in everything." 

"You have said it, my friend. Nothing pleases me 
so much as to see her satisfied." 

"No great self-denial in all this, however. In the 
case supposed, you are able to give what Margy asks 
for, and no special love of money comes in to chill 
your ardor. It is the easiest thing in the world to 
meet ]i.er wishes. But let us take some other case. 
There is to be a musical party at our friend Watson's. 
You care but little for music, and less for musical 
people. The case is different with Margy. With 
masic and musical people she is iu her element. You 
come with a new book from a favorite author, promis- 
ing yourself an evening's enjoyment in reading aloud 
to your wife. She meets you with face aglow, and in 
her hand a note of invitation from the Watsous. ' It 
will be such a delightful time!' she exclaims in her 
enthusiasm. Now comes the true test of your love - 
now its quality must stand revealed. If she had 
known about the new book, and the pleasure you had 
promised yourself, in reading aloud to her through 
the evening, I am sure she would have sent a note of 
excuse to the Watsons, and cheerfully denied herself, 
for your sake, the delights of a musical evening. 
But, knowing nothing of this, she lets fancy revel in 



2S4 LO^'E A GIVER. 

anticipated enjoyment, and does not think, pei-hap.s, 
of your musical taste. Tlius stands the case, my 
friend, and how •will you meet it? In the other case 
it was the generous hand that gave of its abundance. 
Now it is of sheer selt-denlal." 

Williston drew a heavy sigh, moved himself rest- 
lessly, and looked down upon the floor, 

"This love that we talk so much about," resumed 
his friend, "is a subtle thing, and very apt to hide 
from us its true quality. Il is much ofteuer love of 
self, than love of the object sought. Hence we have 
so much unliappiness in the state of marriage, which, 
on the theory of mutual love, ought to be full of bliss. 
But I am using lime that cannot be spared to-day, so 
good morning. If Margy has done you a wrong, help 
her to see it, and she'll not only apologize fur CdUing 
you selfish, bat cover your lips with penitent kisses." 

The case supposed touched the difficulty at its very 
core. Since Willistou's marriage, he had shown him- 
self gifted with a feeble spirit of self-denial. He en- 
joyed his home and his wife, but not in a generous 
spirit. She was more social, aud her taates had 
received a better cultivation. She enjoyed rnusic and 
art intensely. Her .soul responded lovingly to all 
things beautiful. After his friend left him Williston, 
iu the new light which penetrated his mind, began lo 
see the relation of existing aspects. Oue little inci- 
dent after another was cai.ed up from memory, and 
reviewed, and he saw in them, as in a mirror, aa 
image of himself, so different from any before pre- 
sented, that ne was filled with pain and surprise. 
Such a thing as self-denial had scarcely come within 
the range of his virtues. Selfdeniai he had exacted 
often. It had been no unusual thing for .llargy to 
defer her tastes and wishes to his, and he could think 
of many cases in tvhich she must have done so at con- 
siderable sacrifice of feeling. 

A new sentiment ^egan to pervade the mind of 
Williston; a deeper and tenderer feeling for his 
young wife ; in this new sentiment he had a percep- 
tion of something purer and fuller of joy than any- 
thing experienced— the joy of giving up even his life's 
love for another. 

"Dear Margy!" he said, speaking to himself in 
this state. " TUe tramp of my heedless foot must 
have been very crushing, to have extorted that cry of 
pain — for your charge of selfishness was burthe voice 
of .-ufferiug that could not be repressed. Many times 
have I trampled upon, many times wounded the love 
given me -o lovingly ; but never before did the 
bruised heart reveal its anguish " 



LOVE A GIVER. 285 

The tears that gushed from the eyps of Margy Wil- 
liston, as her husbaud turned so coldly from her and 
left the house, rained on for over an hour; for the 
greater part of the time sue indulged in accusing 
tlioughts. She wept over instance after instance of 
seiflsh disreiiard of pleasure ; aad recounted the many 
times she had given up heides.res to gratify his de- 
mand. But this suite of feeling in time changed— or 
wore itself otf. A calm succeeded, in which her better 
nature had an opportunity to speak. The hand of 
pain folded away many coverings that had laid over 
her heart and she could see into some of the hidden 
places never before revealed. She did not find every- 
thing in the order and beauty imagined to exist. 

She was not so loving and unselfish as she had 
fancied herself to be. There came a new gush of tears, 
but the rain was gentler, and instead of desolating, 
refreshed the earth of her mind. 

"1 have thought more of my own gratification than 
of his," she began to say within herself. " His tastes 
differ in many things from mine. What I enjoy may 
be irksome to him. If I insist upon having rny own 
enjoyments, regardless of how they may effect him, 
must not a degree of separation take place? Can he 
love me as much as before— will I love him as much 
as before — if I exact what he cannot give willingly? 
And if our love grow less, what is there in all the 
world to compensate for this decline? Losing that 
we lose all. Shut away that light, and all else will 
lie in shadow." 

So she thought, gaining sight, and a firmer will to 
act in the line of self-rejection, whenever self inter- 
posed to hinder love. As the hours went by, and the 
time drew near when her husbaud would return, a 
dead weight began to settle down upon Margy's heart. 
They had parted in anger. For the first time the 
lightning of a summer storm had flashed in their sky. 
Tnere had been a quick descent of the tempest, burn- 
ing and blinding them. How much of wreck and 
ruin had been wrought in that brief war of inner ele- 
ments, it was yet impossible to know. 

At last, the time of return was at hand. A few 
minutes beyond the hour and a vague fear began 
creeping into the soul of Ma gj. Shadowy forms of 
evil seemed hovering around her ; the weight on her 
bosom grew more oppressive ; her heart labored so 
heaviJy that its motions were painful. 

Suspense was not very long. She heard the door 
open, and the music of a well-known step in the hall. 
Kestraint became impossible— his temperament was 



286 TOO MANY BEAUX. 

too ardent for impression in moments of df>ep feeling. 
Springing down Che stairs, Margy had her arms about 
her husband's neck, ere he had time to put his thoughts 
in order, and was crying on his bosom. The fervent 
kisses, laid as peace offerings on her lips, were sweeter 
to her taste than honey. 

"Can you foi-give me,?" she asked, in the calmness 
of spirit that ensued. " I am very weak, sometimes ; 
and feeling is so strong." 

"If there had been no provocation to feeling," 
Williston answered, frankly, " it wuuld never have 
broken the band of restraint. The fault was mine 
not yours. It was selfish in me, and you said only 
the truth ; but the truth is sometimes the most un- 
pleasant thing we can hear. It sounded very harsh 
in my ear. 1 felt angry and rejected it. Not so now. 
I have seen myself as in a mirror." 

Margy laid her fingers on his mouth and they were 
silent. After a few moments she said gently — 

"We are hiiman, and of consequence, weak and 
selfish by nature. Let love teaeh us a better law than 
nature has written in our hearts. Then we shall 
draw nearer and nenrer together, and the pulses of 
our lives, that sometimes beat unevenly, take the same 
sweet measure." And it was so. But not at ouce, not 
until after many seasons of mutual self-repression. 



TOO MANY BEAUX. 

If by the term "prospects," as applied to a young 
lady, you mean the probabilities of uer getting a hus- 
band, then she whose admirers may be called legion 
has infinitely poorer prospects than one whose friends 
t;f the opposite sex may be counted on the fingers of a 
single hand. 

isow, it is true that everybody patronizes the mode 
and fashion that everybody else supports, for it is the 
easiest and most natural thing in the world to " fol- 
low the crowd." But this is not to say that a young 
man wants for a wife the girl who counts her beaux 
by the score and her conquests by the dozen. 

It is true that every chicken in a brood will leave a 
good dinner, and all go in pursuit of the same object, 
if they see one of their number running away with a 
large-sized crumb, or after an imaginary worm. But 
it is not true that a young man will forsake the mod- 
est, gentle girl, whose society he can enjoy without 



MT TKEASUEES. 287 

rivalry, to compete with a score of others for the 
company of a young lady whose smiles are free to all. 

There is, indeed, a class of men who pay ass'duous 
court to the latter. She generally pos.-esses many at- 
tractions—this pet of society. She has a flue instru- 
ment, and plays tolerahly. Possibly she sings. In- 
variably she dances. She is always surrounded by 
the gayest of the gay ; and in consequence of all 
these advantages, whether she be pretty or plain, her 
drawing-room is a very agreeable place in which to 
spend an evening ; or, as young gentlemen are wont 
to say, " It is extremely pleasant to submit one's self 
occasionally to be handsomely entertained ; but I 
would not, upon any account, have it supposed that I 
am looking iu thatdirectidu for a wife — by no means!" 

Thus these gallants are wont to speak. And, as a 
rule, they are not marrying men. but when one of 
them would take to himself a wife, he goes east, or 
west, or north, or south — anywhere to find a girl un- 
spoiled by society — one who has not in his presence 
played the agreeable to a score of others, and whom 
he strongly suspects any one of them could have had 
for the asking. 

The worst thing for a girl — unless she wants to live 
and die an old maid — is to have too many beaux. 
She may be pretty, stylish, accomplished, graceful — 
anything you please, it matters little. The very fact 
that she has been the recipient of attention from more 
men than she would need to know in the course of a 
lifetime, places her on the level with a worn-out boot — • 
desirable only to those who cannot get better. 

If girls would but take the advice of tlieir own sex 
as graciously as they take the attentions of the other, 
some, at least, would cut loose a few of their worth- 
less acquaintances, and, in future, guard themselves 
against the addresses of too many beaux. 



MY TREASURES. 

A low-roofed, white-walled cottage, 

Half hid among the trees. 
And blooming flowers whose rich perfume 

Loads every passing breeze ; 
This is my casket ; here enshrined, 

I've precious treasures rare ; 
No jewels in a monarch's crown. 

Can with, my gems compare. 



288 THE ALCnEMISTS. 

Close by my side, on the sofa low, 

A iTirtuly form is rticlining ; 
The Soil breeze plays about his head 

Ou ibecrimsua cushion lying ; 
The bus^y day in the dusty town, 

With toil and care has flown, 
And dear dark eyes look into mine, 

And fond hands clasp my own. 

In yonder room, in a dainty crib 

Hung rouud with curtains wide, 
A dark-eyed boy and blue-eyed girl 

Are sleeping side by side. 
One silken tress of sunny hair 

O'er the white pillow strays. 
And on my boy's dark, curling locks 

Like a band of gold it lays. 

My precious treasures ! Rich am I • 

My husband's love I own ; 
My children's kisses on my lips. 

My arms around them thrown. 
My love so deep, so fond and true 

For them can ne'er be spoken ; 
My God ! when e'er thou claim'st a gem, 

Oh ! take the band unbroken. 



THE ALCHEMISTS. 

The alchemists— including the sects of the Rosicru- 
cians of the middle ages, ainoug whom are enrolled 
the names of many learned and talented men, philos- 
ophers of their day and generation, were credulous 
and enthusiastic searchers after some mystic power, 
some occult essence, which would arrest those 
changes, as ossiflcations, indurations and others tak- 
ing place in the body, the effect of time, and ending 
in the cessation of all the final functions, and thii- 
perpetuate youth, and augment our brief space o: 
being to a life of ages— our little bubble of existenc; 
to a mountain wave in the boundless sea of eternity. 

The medical art and science of the alchemists was 
mystical and visionary, in accordance with the dark- 
ness and superstition of their lime. They studied, 
through the faint glimmerings of light just penetrai- 
in\{ the vital sciences, and which did little more than 
make darkness visible, the secrets of human organ- 
ism, that they might learn and successfully encounter 
the cuauges in it which disease and time produced. 



THE ALCHEMISTS. 2j9 

They further sought tlie power to render themselves 
invisible, to raise visions of the absent, and in other 
modes marvellously to extend the human faculties ; 
and not, as they assumed, through any aid of magic 
which depends on the violation oi nature, but through 
a knowledge of, and obedience lo, her laws; or 
through scieuce, that searches into and teaches the 
lawful contrul of nature. 

That in the further advance of chemical science we 
may learn to transmute other metals iuto gold, may 
not" be deemed impossible. Lord Bacou, and after 
him Boyle aud others, believed such transmutation to 
be within the limits of possibility ; and it b as been 
said that even Newton did not decidedly oppose sucu 
belief himself. But then what could be the worth of 
gold Could it he so readily procured? Could we, 
through chemical art, convert other substances into 
what we now value of precious stones— charcoal, for 
example, into diamond — it is obvious that they would 
no longer be "precious " stones. 

There were those among the alchemists, as Van 
Helmont aud Paracelsus, who boasted that they had 
achieved the marvel of their research. Paracelsus 
claimed that he could render life immortal, and eveu 
the power through the chemical art of originating 
life, and yet died at about the age of forty-eight. 
And many others of the same sect, who vauuted their 
possessiou of the philosopher s stone and elixir of 
life, passed in beggars rags to an early grave. 

The alcheinists discovered neither an t^lixir of life, 
nor the philosopher's stone, still their labors were far 
from being iu vain, far from wanting in precious 
fruits. Our researches after the unattainable, will 
often lead to incidental discoveries of inestimable 
value ; to results of a magnitude beyond those which 
the accomplishment of the original aim would have 
atforded. Columbus, in seeking to discover a west ru 
passage to Asia, or India, as he terms it, made tne far 
more important discovery of America. The man who 
dug over his held for a pot of inoupy, tuough he 
found it noi, yet found his labors rewarded by luture 
harvests, worth more than would have been his ex- 
pected treasure. So the alchemists, though not tiud- 
ing the object of their pursuit, were opening the way 
to inestimable treasures in the future field of scieuce. 

The alchemists, tueu, were but periorining their 
predetermined and necessary roles iu the great drama 
of creation. Their acts were steps in progress, tend- 
ing ultimately, let us trust, to clearer and fuller de- 
velopments of the mys.eries of life, teaching us mora 

19 



290 "WHO ARE GENTLEMEN. 

effectually to prevent or restore its deviations, and to 
extend iis term. For it need not be told ttiat the pres- 
ent science of chemistry, with all its wonuertai re- 
vealmeuts of nature's secrets and the practical appli- 
cation of nature's mysterious force, both in organic 
and inorganic creation, owes its origin to the labors 
of alchemists. Their immediate purposes were not 
accomplished, but out of their misdirected labors 
have grown results of incalculable value. And the 
work -begun under the visions of the alchemists is 
still going forward ; and marvels have been and 
are still being achieved through that science whose 
foundations they were unwittingly laying — marvels 
beyond the stretch even of their wildest dreams. 
Their labors, then, were not in vain ; they were 
doubtless ordinated ia the progressive scheme of 
created things. 



WHO ARE GENTLEMEN 

In our intercourse with society we are often sur- 
prised to notice what despicable and contracted sen- 
timents are yet afloat in the world in respect to the 
characteristic marlis of a true gentleman. There are 
thousands of individuals who aspire to the repucatiuu 
of a gentleman, or who, perhaps, faucy themselves 
to be really such, yet whose highe.it, most compre- 
hensive notions of the character, are confined to mere 
external accomplishments. There are many females, 
too, who seem not once to have a distant idea of such 
a person, unconnected with coxcombry of demeanor, 
and that polished, courtly exterior which is often as- 
sumed by heartless, abandoned libertines, to hide the 
foul rottenness of their characters and the baseness of 
their designs. Why else do we so frequently see indi- 
viduals of the other sex who claim to p'ossess the 
most spotless character, to be the conservators of 
fashion, and to give tone to society, receiving into 
their parties and caressing, nay, not hesitating to 
promenade in public, arm in arm with depraved and 
profligate %\ retches, as their honored associates — de- 
bauchees who are known to be dissolute, yes, odiously 
licentious in their habits, and this without a blush! 
Why do ladies of quality, instead of scorning even the 
approach of such wretches, and repelling their presence 
as an insult and affront to their sex, evince even a pre- 
ference for their society over men of exemplary char- 
acters—apparently delighting in their attentions, if 



WHO AEE GENTLEMEN. 291 

tliey happen to he talented, rich and fashionable, 
though they may have been guiliy of the deepest 
baseness 10 other women? Why, too, do the young 
(.f the gentler sex often manifest such an eagerness to 
draw around them the butterflies of ours, being of 
mere tinsel and foppery, to the exclusion of the meri- 
torious and deserving, who seek companions for life, 
aud not the glittering playthings of an hour! Why 
is it that men may practice with impunity vices 
which, in the other sex, will not be tolerated for a 
moment ; or that abandoned libertines, addicted to 
the vilest species of profligacy, and worse than all, 
who do not pretend to disguise their evil habits, yet 
hold up their heads in society as gentlemen, while 
the female who is even suspected of the slightest de- 
viation irom the rules of chastity, is consigned to 
everlasting infamy and disgrace? The undeniable 
fttct is, that the just old maxim of Pope, that " worth 
makes the man," has sunk into oblivion ; new stand- 
ards of character have been set up; and the funda- 
mental qualities which enter into the modern fash- 
ionable idea of a gentleman, have less relation to 
lunate honesty and worth, than to the length of one's 
purse, the texture of his cloth, and the scrupulous 
exactness of his grimaces and bows. 

We believe that true gentlemen are confined to no 
walk or rank in lile. The sturdy blacksmith, with 
his dingy garments, his open, honest countenance 
begrimmed with smut, and his rough, hard hand, 
scarred with service more honorable than that of war, 
has an immeasurably higher claim to that honorable 
name than the shallow-pated fop, who skips through 
college with kid gloves and a rattan, cultivates the 
graces before the glass and ladies, and takes tis di- 
ploma with all the blushing honors thick on his 
vacant head. It is a false and contemptible notion 
that unless a man can boast a high descent, or roll 
majestically along in a coach emblazoned with his 
arms, his name should be stricken from the lists 
of gentlemen. Which class has, fi'om time im- 
memorial, conferred the brighest honors on the 
human race — the haughty aristocrat, who shrinks 
with strong convulsions from the touch of the honest 
poor man, and moves with a step that seems dainty 
of the soil it treads on, or the humble peasant who 
claims no merit but nobility of soul ? Whence come 
the great lights of the intellectual firmament — the stars 
that form the bright galaxy whose beams dazzle the 
eye of every beholder ? In the vast majority of in- 
statces they have emerged to eminence trom the chill- 



292 TUE THREE CHIMES. 

ing depths of obscurity, destitutioa and want. 
Whose voices are oftenest ra,i.--ed in successful vindica- 
tion of huuiau rights, and float over mountain and 
plain, over ocean and land, till they vibrate on the 
ear of the remotest dweller iu Christendom. Who 
are they that 
♦' Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, 
Or dive iuto the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom line could never touch the ground, 
And drag up drowned honor by the locks." 
The scions of uoble b ood ? The worshippers of 
Bacchus and Yeuus, who fritter away the hours 
granted by Heaven for self-improvement in the study 
of the contemptible and puerile foims of fashion? 
Ko ! They are men of low parentage, men who have 
bulTeted tlie billows of fate without dependence save 
upon the mercy of God and their own energies— the 
gentlemen of nature who have trodden under foot the 
"painted lizards "of society, and worked out their 
own distinction with an ardor that conld not be 
quenched, and a perseverance that considered noth- 
ing done while anything yet remained to be done. 



THE THREE CRIMES. 

An Eastern Tale. 

Hamet Abdallah was an inhabitant of a grotto on 
Hue of the slopes of Mount Olympus When he stood 
at the entrance of his humble dwelling, he could em- 
biace, at one glance, all the territory originally pos- 
sessed hj Usmau, the founder of the Ottoman Empire 
jtnd, as he live times a day ofl'ered up his prayers to 
Allah, he invoked blessings upon Che head of Solymau 
the Magnificent, the reii,'uiug Sultan in whose time he 
lived. Indeed, Abdallah was renowned for his sanc- 
tity ; and tlie inhabitants of the vicinity of his dwel- 
ling treated him with the most marked respect. 

He was not, however, entitled to this excessive ven- 
eration by his age, for he had scarcely attained his 
fortieth year w'heu the incident of this tale took place. 
His venerable father, who was h.mseif a dervi»e of 
r/reat sanctity, and whose years amounted to four- 
score, resided with him in the same grotto ; and for- 
tunate was deemed the individual who, on his way 
along the slopes of Olympus, was allowed to join the 
prayers of the two dervises, kneeling upon the ground 



4 



THE THREE CRIMES. 29v> 

at the entrance of the cave, and turning their coiinte- 
nances toward the holy cities of Mecca and Medina. 

Haruet Abdallali was one mornioy roving among the 
groves and woods which extended up the nitarntain far 
above his grotto, and pondering upon tlie passage in 
the Koran which he had been perusing but a short 
time previously, when his foot suddenly struck 
against smnethiug hard upon the grouud. He looked 
downward, and saw an iron ring fastened to. a small 
brass plate, which was lee into a sciuare of stonewoik, 
and seemed to cover a hollow place or well. Obeying 
a sudden impulse of curiosity, Hamet applied his hand 
to the ring, and pulled it with all his force. After 
many vain exertions, the brass plate yielded to his 
efforts, and he fell backward with the sudden shock. 

Before he had time to arise and examine the aper- 
ture thus laid bare, a dense volume of smoke issued 
from the hele, and ascended in the air to the height of 
several tliousand feet. 

Hamet gazed with astonishment upon this strange 
apparition ; but how much more was his wonder ex- 
cited when he saw the smoke gradually become more 
and more palpable and shapely, and at length as- 
sume the form of an immense giant, with a long, 
flowing, white beard, and a tremendous pine tree in 
his right hand. 

Hamet fell upon his knees, and was about to put up 
a prayer to Heaven, when the terrible apparition ad- 
dressed liim in a voice of thunder: 

"Nay; mention not the name of the Deity, or I 
will cut thee iut(.) ten thousand pieces!" 

"Who ait thou?" demanded Hamet, rising from 
his suppliaut posture. 

" I am Kera, an evil Genie, whom a victorious power 
shut up in that acctirst^d hole, where I have lan- 
guished for two thousand ye irs. It is an evil day for 
thee that brought thee hither." 

"And wherefore, proud Geaie?" demanded Hamet. 

" Bocause 1 am about to kill thee, in (jvder to avenge 
myself upon some one for this loug captivity." 

At these words Hamet trembled very much, and 
besought the Genie to sjiare his life. For a long time 
the Geuie was inexorable, and ordered him to prepare 
for imiaediate death ; but at length he suffered him- 
self to be moved by the prayers and entreaties of the 
virt\uius dervise. 

" Hark ye," said the Genie, "I am willing to spare 
your life upon one condition." 

"A^ame it," said Hamet, his heart leaping with joy. 

"1 will grant your lequest, I say," proceeded the 



294 THE THREE CRIMES. 

Genie, " on condition that you perpetrate some crime 
■whicli may diiiiiuish your overweening pride of con- 
Fcious virtue. Do not interrupt me, or I vpill kill you 
upon the spot, but listen. I give you your choice of 
three of the most heinous crimes wnich I can imagine. 
You shall either violate the law of the Prophet, and 
drink your fill of good wine, or you shall murder your 
venerable old father, or you shall curse the name of 
that Deity whom you worship. Choose between these 
three crimes." 

Then Hamet was very sorrowful, and he endeavored 
to melt the heart of the evil Genie ; but all his prayers 
and entreaties were unavailing. He accordingly went 
to reason within himself. 

"If," said he, " I assassinate my father, no contri- 
tion can wipe away my crime ; and moreover, the law 
will overtake me with its vengeance. If I curse the 
name of the great Allah, I may sigh in vain for future 
happiness in the gardens of Paradise. But if I be- 
come inebriate with the j uice of the grape, 1 can expi- 
ate tliat fault by severe mortification, penitence, and 
renewed prayer." 

Then turning his countenance upward toward the 
Genie, he said: " 0, fountain of all evil! I have made 
my choice, since thou art determined upon this 
injury." I 

" JName the object of that choice," said the Genie. 

" I will get drunk witii wine, as the least of thft 
crimes which you propu.-e.'' answered the dervise. 

"Be it so," cried the Genie; "this evening, after 
the hour of prayer, thou wilt find a jar of Cj'prus 
wine upon thy table; when thy father has retired, 
fulfill thy promise then. But woe unto thee if thou 
deceiveth me!" 

The Genie gradually became less palpable as he 
spoke these words, and by the time the conclud- 
ing menace issued from his lips, he had vanished 
altogether. Hamet retraced his steps toward the 
grotto with a sorrowful heart ; but he would not con- 
fide his anticipated disgrace to the aflfectiouate parent 
who welcomed his return. 

The day passed rapidly away ; and in the evening, 
Hamet and his sire knelt down as usual at the door of 
the grotto, with their faces toward the South, to raise 
their voices in prayer. When their vespers wei-e con- 
cluded the old man embraced his son tenderly, and 
retired to the inner part of the grotto. 

As soon as Hamet knew that his father slept, he 
lighted a lamp ; and, as the Genie had told him, he 
Eaw a large measure of wine standing upon the table. 



THE THREE CRIMES. /6'jO 

The unhappy dervise raised it to his lips, and drank 
deeply of the intoxicating draught. A glow of tire 
seemed to electrify his frame, and he laughed as he 
sat the ^'es.-el down upon the table. Again he drank, 
and he felt reckless and careless of the consequences. 
He drank the third time ; and when he had emptied 
the measure, he ran out to the door of the grotto, and 
threw it down the slope of the mountain. Then, as 
he heard it bounding along, he laughed with inde- 
scribable mirth. As he turned to enter the grotto, he 
saw his lather standing behind him. 

" Lyu," said the old man, "the noise of revelry 
awoke nie from my slumbers, and 1 rise to find my 
beloved H.auet diunken with wine! Alas! is this 
merely one of many night orgies? and have I now 
awakened to the dread truth oi thine impiety for the 
first time? Alas! thou hast cast ashes upon the gray 
head of thy father." 

Hamet could not brook this accusation, and the im- 
plied suspicion that he was accustomed to indulge in 
wine while his father slept. He felt suddenly indig- 
nant at the language of his sire, and cried: '• Return 
to your couch, old dotard! Thou knowest not what 
thou saycst !'' 

And, as he uttered these words, he pushed his 
father violently into the grotto. The old man resisted, 
and again remonstrated with Han)et. The brain of 
the son was confused with liquor, and a sudden dread 
of exposure to the world entered his mind. With the 
rage of a demon he rushed upon his hoary-headed sire, 
aiid dashed him furiously against the stone walls of 
the grotto. The old man fell Avith his temple against 
a sharp flint — one groan emanated from his bosom — 
and his spirit fled forever. 

Suddenly cooscious of the horrid crime of which he 
had been guilty, Hamet tore his hair, beat his brettst, 
and raved like a maniac. And in the midst of his 
ravings he lilted up his voice against the majesty of 
Heaven, and cursed the Deity whom he had so long 
and fervently worshipped. 

At that instant a terrible din echoed round about — 
the thunder rolled, the tall trees shook with an earth- 
quake — and, amidst the roar of conflicting elements, 
wi're heard shouts of infernal laughter. All hell 
seemed to rejoice at the fall of a good man, whom 
no other vice had ever temj^ted away from the paths 
of virtue until drunkenness presented itself. The 
rage of the storm increased — the trees were torn up 
by their roots — and fragments of the rocky parts of 
Olympus rolled down the hill with the fury of aa 



206 THE MYSTERIOUS "ROBBERIES. 

Alpine avaUiDclie. Siiddenly the Geuie appeared be- 
fore the wretched Hainet and' exclaimed : " Fool ! by 
choosiiii,' to commit the crime which seemed to thee 
least, thon hast committed the other two likewit-e! for 
there is more danger in the wine cup than in any. 
other means of temptation presented by Sataa to man- 
kind." 

And the last words of the Geuie mingled with the 
redoiibled howling of the storm, as Hamet was borne 
down the slope of the mountain by the falling masses, 
and dashed to pieces at the bottom. 



THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES. 

Sitting alone in my office one dull, dark October 
jtfternoon, indulging in the luxury of a quiet smoke, 
the door opened in a timid, hesitatiug manner, and an 
old, wrinkled, gray-headed, gray-bearded man, poorly 
and shabbily dressed, .shuffled in, and throwing the 
glance of what was still a keen, restless, suspicious 
black eye, over my person, said, in a subdued and 
\Ahat sounded like a somewhat humble tone, that he 
had callea to see Mr. George Larkin. 

"That is my name," returned I; "pray step for- 
ward and take a seat." 

The old man seemed to hesitate a moment, eyed me 
sharply, glanced warily about the apartment, and ob- 
served, as he walked forward and sat down near me: 
" I hope we are alone, Mr. Larkin, for my business 
concerns only our two selves " 

"But sometimes, I am told," he continued, hesitat- 
ing, " these kind of places -I beg your pardon — I 
mean no off'-nce to you— sometimes. Isay, I am told, 
these places are contrived for secret listeners." 

"But I have assured you, sir," I replied, rather 
coldly, "that we are alone here, and if you doubt my 
word, perhaps you had better carry your secret, what- 
ever it is, away with you." 

'• Well, well," he replied, somewhat hastily, "never 
mind — 1 will take your word — 1 will trust you. And 
I have good authority for doing so, too," he added, 
partly soliloquizing, and partly addressing me. "You 
see, Mr. Ijarkin, as there is to be conliiience between 
us, it is no more than fair to tell you that I have been 
to a magistiate, asking for a trusty and secret police 
agent, of superior cunning and imeliigence, and that 
Mr. George Larkin was named as the individual on 
whom I could rely in every particular." 



THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES. 39? 

" I am mucli obliged to the magistrate, wlioever lie 
is, fur his good opinion and recommendation," I an- 
swered witli a slight bow. " And now% sir, if you are 
eatisfled, I am prepared to hear your communication." 

Again the old man hesitated, and eyed me keenly, 
and turned somewhat pale at the thought of what he 
was about to divulge ; but at last, as if pressed by ne- 
cessity, he seemed to put his scruples aside, aod said: 

"Mr. Larkin, 1 am an old man, as you si-e, and per- 
haps a rather eccentric one, as you see, and may dis- 
cover. Old as I am, I am alone in the world, having 
neither wife nor child, and only some distant rela- 
tions, who do not care for me nor I for ibem Poor 
as I look, and as everybody believes me," (here he 
glanced his keen eye suspiciously around him, leaned 
forward, and whispered in my ear,) " I have gold — 
much gold — enough to— to — well, no matter?" 

I looked at the old man as he paused, and I said, 
while debating in my own mind whether he was sane 
or a monomaniac: "Well, sir, what has this gold to 
do with me?" 

" Let me confess to yoit," he jiursued, " since I have 
resolved to trust you,"wiiat I have never told to mortal 
ear, that I love gold — adore gold — and that I am what 
the world, if it knew, would call a miser." 

" Then you are to be pitied," said I. 

He fastened upon me a strange, startled, searching 
look, as if he doubted the sincerity of my words, the 
statement of which was beyond his comprehension ; it 
being impossible for him to understand how a miser — 
a man having actually heaps of gold — could be in any 
degree a subject of pity. 

" Yes," he resumed, at length, "I never saw any 
human being that I liked as well as myself; but gold, 
silver money, the coin of the realm, of all realms, I 
like better." 

" Well," returned I, now nearly convinced that the 
old man was not in his right mind, "I do not see what 
thi-s has to do with me." 

" Ay, ay, I'm coming to that, Mr. Larkin — T-am com- 
ing to that. You see, being alone in the world, and 
loving nothing but my gold, I naturally live alone 
with my gold. Years ago — a great many years ago, 
you see — ^I bought an old tumble-down house, on ihe 
outskirts. Heavens! what a price I had to pay for it, 
too ! two hundred pounds, Mr. Larkin — actually two 
hundred pounds, sir, for that house and bit of land, and 
all in hard gold, too ! Well, as I was saying, I bought 
the house, and then went to work myself, and with my 
own hands, toat I might not pay out any more money 



293 THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES. 

and have anybody know my spcret, I constructed a 
safe — a fire-proof— and then had au iron door made for 
it with a bank-lock that no oae could opea without 
the key and secret of him who had locked it. This 
done, I sold all the property which I hnd inherited, 
converted it into gold, put the gold into leather bags, 
(another expensive luxury,) and secretly deposited 
them in my safe. Since then I have dressed like a 
beggar and lived alone with my gold, the sight of 
which has given me hours of rapture, and the jingle 
of which has filled my ears with a delight which I 
cannot express. Well, sir, well, sir," continued the 
old man, fairly trembling at the thoutrht, " I now come 
to the painful business which has brouijht me here. 
Ah, me — ah, me! I wonder it has not driven me mad! 
For years, Mr. Larkiu — for years — fur years, sir — I 
lived alone with my gold, and kept my own secret, 
, and nobody found nie out : but of late, sir, (Heaven be 
merciful!) I have been robbed — robbed, sir — of my 
gold, Mr. Larkin!" 

" Then, I suppose, you are now a poor man," said I. 
"How was your lioiise broken into? Give me the 
most minute particulars; for it is often by the merest 
trifles that we detectives are able to get the clue that 
leads to the greatest results." 

"Ah! there it is, sir — is the mystery!" groaned 
the old man. " You are mistaken, Mr. Larkin, in sup- 
posing that I am literally a poor man, or that my 
house has been broken into at all, so far as I can dis- 
cover. Xo, sir — no ! The money has been taken — 
several times — a bay at a time — and yet nothing has 
been disturbed. My doors and windows, which I 
have always bolted, as well as locked, i have never 
found unbolted or unlocked, which must have been 
the case if any one had come in that way. And then 
my safe is always found just as I left it. and the key 
fastened to mj' body by its iron chain. The first bag 
of gold I missed (oh, Heaven, be merciful!) was about 
two months ago, and I could not believe it was till I 
had counted the remaining bags over and over, per- 
haps fifty times. Then I tried to believe I had taken 
it out myself, and mislaid it, and I spent two days 
searching the whole house — every nook and cranny — 
every likely and unlikely place. Well, sir, a week 
went along, and another bag was missing. Horrible 
mystery! Since that I have lost three more — the last 
one last night — and human nature can endure it no 
longer. Ob, sir! find out the thief, and restore to me 
my missing gold, and I will — will — worship you, sir ?" 

I smiled at the idea of getting a miser's worship ia 



THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES. 299 

return for my trouble of detecting a mysterious thief 
and restoring the owner a large amount of gold ; and 
I said, facetiously: " Unquestionably, what you offer 
is very valuable in your estimation ; but neither a 
miser's blessing nor curse will pass current for rent, 
food, or clothing. No, Mr. a " 

" Brandish — Stephen Brandish." 

" No, Mr. Brandish, if I undertake this business of 
detecting the thief, and getting back your money, or 
any portion of it, I must be paid in gold — gold, sir, 
gold— for I, too, like gold— though for what it will 
buy, and not to worship." 

For a long time we could not agree upon terms ; but 
at last, having got the matter settled to my satisfac- 
tion, I entered with great zest into the penetration and 
nuravelmput of what was really a wonderful mystery. 
That night, after dark. I made my appearnnce at the 
miser's house; and, being admitted, and the door se- 
cured, I began my inspection of the premises I went 
Tip to the roof and down te the cellar, searching mi- 
nutely all the walls, floo-rs, and ceilings, for some place 
where a thief might enter or secrete himself. The 
house was an old crazy structure, sure enough ; but I 
found nothing to give me a clue to the mystery. The 
doors and windows were all bolted on the inside, and 
the bolts, I assured myself by close examination, were 
all sound and in good order. In the cellar was a well, 
from which the old man drew what water he used, 
and I satisfied myself there was nothing suspicious 
about that. Then I went round the walls, and tried 
every stone of any size, to see if it might be removed ; 
but all were fast and solid. At last I came to the 
money-safe, which was curiously built in the ground, 
with iron door upwards, like a trap-door, and which 
was etfectually concealed by scattering dirt over it. 

" I must see the inside of this!" said I; " there may 
be an excavation underneath." 

" Oh, sir," returned the old miser, trembling at the 
thought of exposing his riches, " you will not rake the 
advantage of an old man. Yon will not betray me. 
You will promise this — you will swear to it." 

I might have got offended at this question of my 
honesty from another; but I took into consideration 
the peculiarities of the miser, and promised all he 
wished, even going so far as to take an oath of secrecy. 
At last, after much hesitation and demurring, he ven- 
tured to expose the interior of the safe to my gaze. It 
contained twenty-five heavy bags of gold, with a large 
amount of silver thrown in loosely ; but the bottom, 
*ides, and all parts of it, save the iron door, were 



SOO THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES. 

composed of thick granite, perfectly cemented, and 
had uever been disturbed siace being put togecber. 

My inspection of tlie house was now completed, but 
without gaining tne sligntest clue to the mystery of 
the robberies. I could discover no place where any 
one could have entered, and there was certainly uo 
one now concealed in the house. I questioned the 
miser as to who had visited him ; but he positively de- 
clared that, myself excepted, I was the only one he 
had permitted to cross his threshold since taking up 
his solitary abode there. I was at a stand— i knew 
not what to suggest. Had but one been missing — or 
had he only been robbed once — the matter would have 
seemed susceptible of some rational solution; but to 
be robbed several times, at irregular intervals, and the 
thief to be so forbearing as to take only a comparatively 
small portion at each time, and then withal leave no 
trace, save the loss, of his having been there, this it 
was that puzzled and perplexed me exceedingly. I 
finally went away, at a late hour, promising to give 
the matter my serious consideration, and the old man 
agreeing to communicate with me immediately on the 
occurrence of anything new. 

Three days after, he again appeared in a half-dis- 
tracted state, and declared that, diiriug tiie night pre- 
vious, he had been robbed of another bag of gold. 
Again I rei)aired to this house, and made another 
search, going from cellar to roof and from roof to 
cellar, examining everything, even to his old rotten 
straw bed, but only to end as wise as I began. I made 
him open his safe again, and saw with my own eyes 
that only twenty-four bag* remained ; and I knewfrom 
his appearance that the missing money was really lost, 
since it was not possible for any one to counterfeit such 
wretched grief and terror on his countenance as his lan- 
guage and manner expressed. The money was gone ; 
but who was the thief ; and by what mystery had he 
made his entrance and exit, and opened and closed the 
safe ? 

In a few days the miser was robbed again ; and, in 
spite of all I could do, he continued to be robbed, at 
longer or shorter periods, for several months, until in 
fact only ten bags of gold remained, and by this time 
he was wasted almost to a skeleton through grief at his 
loss, and I had become so nervous and superstitious 
that I looked to see a ghost every time I visited the 
dwelling. What could it mean? I had spent days 
and nights in the house ; had arranged matters so I 
could come and go as I pleased, at all hours, secretly 
and openly ; and yet, though I had used this freedom, 



BEAUTY. oOl 

and been an almost constant spy upon the premises, 
I had failed to detect the slightest clue to the thief. 
Surely, it could not be the work of human hands ! and 
the thought of the supernatural made my blood run 
cold. 

One night I retired to bed, terribly perplexed with 
this mystery ; and after rolling and tossing about for 
a long time I fell asleep, and dreamed I was in the 
miser's house on the watch, and that I saw him get 
up, go to his safe, unlock it, take out a bag of gold, 
drop it in the well, re-lock his safe, and return to his 
b d. 

"That is it!" I cried, leaping out upon the floor. 
" I have it now! The wretched man is a sleep-walker, 
and has all along been robbing himself. Why hava 
1 not thought of this before?" 

I dressed in haste, and set off, night though it was, 
to ascertain the truth of my new conjecture. 1 reached 
the gloomy house, went in, and found the miser was 
not in bed. I hurried down-stairs, and, by the light 
of my lantern, beheld him stretched out on the ground, 
near the well, with a bag of gold in his hand. I spoke 
to him, but he did not answer. I touched him, but he 
did not answer. I stooped down, took hold of his wrist, 
felt his pulse, and started up in horror. 

He was dead! He had died in the act of robbing 
himself! 

The mystery was solved ; my dream had revealed 
the truth, and the missing bags of gold were all found 
at the bottom of the well. The whole was taken pos- 
session of by the authorities, and I received my just 
due for services r( 



BEAUTY. 

Take a pebble that lies in our path. To nine men 
out of ten it is a pebble and nothing more, but to the 
tenth man it is a world. As he gazes upon it his 
thoughts go back to primeval agfs, when the stillness 
of death reigned throughout space, and the spirit of 
God moved upon the face of the waters and was 
spoken into existence; he sees its component parts 
entering into the composition of the vast pyiamids of 
Egypt, fitting Mausoleums of shrouded royalty, and 
relics of barbaric grandeur that will stand so long as 
time endures. Anon, he sees the rock in the wilder- 
ness, smitten by the hand of God's chosen deliverer, 
and the refreshing waters briuging snlace and com- 



3G3 BEAUTY. 

fort to the travel-worn children of Israel. Follow- 
ing the chain of events, he sees the wise men travers- 
ing the rocky slopes and fertile plains of Judea, 
wending their way to Bethlehem, guided by the star 
that announces to them the Messiah is born. He sees 
the stately columns of .lerusalem, the gorgeous pal- 
aces of Rome, the magnificent statues of the old world, 
and all constructed from the same material as this 
little pebble. 

Things are often beautiful to ns by association. 
Who has not linuwn and loved a Mary, name sacred 
in history and lovely in soDg ? Pluck an apple blos- 
som from the tree at your door — there are gayer flow- 
ers, but none dearer in memory. As you gaze upon 
its blushing beauty and inhale its fragrance, the long 
years of toil and sorrow flee away, and you are again 
a child at your mother's knee, and you bear the hum 
of the bee amidst the clover, and drink again cool 
draughts from the mossy old well, and hear the music 
of voices long since hushed in death. 

There is no attribute of nature so refining and ele- 
vating in its tendencies as that of beauty. JN'ot long 
since there was sent to one of our State prisons, a 
woman hardened in sin, and her soul blackened with 
a long catalogue of crime. All efforts to reform her 
were useless — she scoffed at the prayers of the chap- 
lain, and jeered at the friendly words of advice from 
the matron. One day while suUen.y staring throayh 
the prison gate, a little c lild came oy with its hands 
full of flowers, and seeing her face, stopped, and 
reached through the gate a little daisy. The woman 
took it, and going into her cell Jaid it upon tbe 
grated window sill. "^She gazed upon it long and 
earne.-stly, gradually the hard lines of her face suit- 
ened, the sullen frown melted away, and a tear 
roiled down her cheek. It was a little thing, and 
yet, who shall tell what secret spring it touched, aud 
what visions of loot purity and childish innocence iC 
called up. 

We are too often unmindful of the wonderful mis- 
sion of beauty ur how mucj it lies in ine I'^iwer of 
each one of us to add to the happiness of others, 
through its influence. Have you a friend languishing 
oh a bed of pain? Send him the fairest blo>som in 
your garden— the rosiest apple from your tree, is 
there one at your next door that society has frowned 
upon? G.ve her a cheerful word and plea-aat smile, 
and your ministrations of beauty Avill be remembered 
by Him who does not forget even the "cup of coxd 
■water " offered in love. 



, A DUEL OR A WEDDING. 303 

Teach your little child to love and cherish all beau- 
tiful chiags. Teli hitn the same plastic hand moulded 
the lily's cup, that formed the round world from 
which it sprung. 

Teach your daughters that the adornings of a pure 
and lovely spirit are more beautiful chau diamonds of 
Golcouda. 

Train your sons to reverence virtue and truth, that 
their lives may be beautiful through their manliness 
and integrity.. 

Oh, this world is full of beauty ! The air is loving 
with its spirit, and there is a peace within that maketh 
all things beautifal and earth to seem as an ever- 
sounding anthem of thanks for the mission of the 
holy messenger. " A th.ng of beauty is a juy for- 
ever." 



A DUEL OR A WEDDING. 

I AM an ardent admirer of femnle beauty. I ought 
to have been an arcisc or a scalptor, hut I am neither. 
1 have thouu'ht some of ruuuina; an ambrotype allery 
— one of that kind, you know, where they niii IroDi 
town to town, stopping on a vacant lot or on the coni- 
moa fir a week or two, to transfer liie race:< of the 
town's pe >ple to glass ; but I gave up that idea, at last, 
for the sole reason that I am not of a roving dispiisi- 
tion. I want to settle in one spot, and the spot I <lid 
settle in was jast at the corner of Crown and Morton 
streets in W . 

I was book-keeper for Brown & Co., wholesale deal- 
ers in hides and tallow. Henry Bowers, a young man of 
very lively disposition, and aiso an admirer ot feujale 
beauty, was employed in the same otiice. We boarded 
and roomed together at the corner of Crown and Mor- 
ton. 

One night Henry and I attended one of the lyceum 
lectures. I think it was Mr. Beecher that delivered 
the lecture. But whether it was or not it does not 
matter, for I do not intend to speak of the lecturer, 
but of a certain young lady I saw there. 

We occupied seats very near the stage— we came 
early. There were very few in the hall at the time, 
but the seat directly in front of us was filled with 
ladies. 1 believe there was one gentleman, though i 
did not take much notice of him. 

We had hardly been in the hall five minutes before 
my attention was fixed upon one of the ladies upou 



304 A DUEL OR A WEDDING. 

the front seat. She was a little to the right of me, but 
as she was talking very earnestly to the lady next to 
her, her face whs turned towards us ; and, susceptible 
as I am, I could not bat be impressed with the beauty 
of it. 

Bowers noticed her, too, and punched me in the ribs 
to attract my attention. 

" A little out of the common order, eh, McDougal?" 
he whispered. 

" Lovely, I think. Do you know her?" 

And just then the organ music began to blow ; and 
Bowers, who is also a lover of music, as well as of 
beauty, turned his S,ttention to the organ, which, by 
the way, is always played an hour before the lecture 

.commences, for you see the people of W have 

bought a great organ lately, and they can't let it rest 
whenever they have an opportunity to display its 
powers. 

But I couldn't withdraw my gaze from the beauti'\il 
young lady before me. She had golden hair, and her 
bluest of blue eyes swam full of love and sweetness. Her 
nose was small and straight, aud she had just the 
prettiest dimple among the blushes on either cheek. 
And then, such a mouth! what red, ripe lips! teeth of 
pearl, flashing between the i-oses. Her forehead was 
smooth and broad, and her neck, I saw, as the fur cape 
dropped low on her shoulders, was white as alabaster, 
and smooth as polished marble. Her form was trim 
and slight — not too tall, but just the opposite of short 
and dumpy. Rea My, she was a model for a painter. 
And if I had only been an artist, photographist, am- 
brotypist, or sign painter, I certainly should have 
transferred that beautiful face and f<n-m to canvass, 
paper, glass, or wood. As it was, when the lecture 
was concluded, which I am sorry to say I don't re- 
member anything about, I went home leaning on the 
arm of Bowers, madly iu love with — well, I didn't 
know whom. 

A mouth passed away without my seeing anything 
Oi the beautiful stranger. But about that time I re- 
ceived an invitation to visit my friend Mrs. Segard in 

M . She is a widow of forty, and is the mother of 

a certain Miss Segard, familiarly called Clara. I think 
that Mrs. Segard has tried to bring about a marriage 
between Clara and myself, and I believe I was not 
much opposed to the match. Clara was a good girl 
everybody said, a very pretty brunette, with flashing 
black eyes aud hair, but her form was short, thick and 
ilowdyish. I admire a handsome form quite as much 
as a handsome face. I might have married her — I 



A DUEL OR A WEDDING. 305 

really think I should, but for a little affair which hap" 
peneil at U , -which I sat dowa to tell you about. 

Tli8 morning I started for M , Bowers accompa- 
nied me to the depot. While I was buymg my ticket, 
I uoticed another gentleman come into the waitiug- 
room. My first thought was, that it was my shadow 
that I saw before me. He was about my height, had a 
light complexion like mine, and eyes of a grizzly gray, 
and one of them turned in, just like mine. He had a 
Jong, thick, snub nose, covered with freckles, an exact 
copy of mine ; his mouth was large, and his front teeth 
filled just like mine. He wore a long, gray overcoat, 
which I am sure was mauufactm-ed at the Adriatic, 
and I am almost positive that it was made from the 
same piece as mine was. He had on a tall silk hat, 
tipped upon one side of his sandy locks, and so did I ; 
and furthermore, he carried in his hand a small car- 
pet bag, with a tag marked "J. McD." tied to the 
straps. 

I looked at him, and he returned the compliment, and 
Bowers examined him at a distance with an opera 
glass. At last the stranger advanced across the room, 
bowed, and stopped directly in front of me. 

"Friend," said he, with some hesitation, evidently 
bewildered, " did your mother ev^r have twins ?" 

" IN^o ; I never heard that she did/' I replied with a 
smile. 

"Well, mine never did that I heard of," and he put 
his hand upon my coat sleeve, and began to examine 
the cloth. 

" I say, sir," continued the stranger, looking down 
to the carpet bag that I held, and examining the tag, 
"are you John McDolan, or am I?" 

"My name is McDougal," I replied, smiling, as I 
heard a gentleman remark to his neighbor, " Twins of 
course. What a resemblance !" 

"Well, Mr. McDougal, I hope you ai'e an honest 
man, for you see, if you should happen to rob a bank, 
forge a note, pick a pocket, or cut somebody's juglar, 
I might have to suffer, perhaps swing for it." 

"I cnn give good reference as to my character," I 
answered. 

" Yes, that's very eood. But Mr. McDougal, which 
way are you going?" 

"Down. I have bought ray ticket." 

"Then I'm going up. I don't think we'd best travel 
together. There's the train starting now. Good-bye, 
Mr McDougal ; I wish you success, and for my sake 
don't spoil your character " 

Mr. McDolan shook my band and hurried away. 

20 



S06 A. DUEL OK A WEDDING. 

The train for TJ started five minutes after. 

" Don't get married this time down," said Bowers, 
as be slioolc my hand at parting. 

" No, never tear that just yet," I answered, closing 
the window. 

To get to M , which, by the way, is a rather out- 
of-the-way place, a small, one horse cowa, with one 
tavern, two churches and a poor-house. I had to leave 

the cars at U , and then talte a private conveyance 

to M , five miles distant. I could have goue by the 

Btage, but that only leaves U once a day, ac five 

o'clock in the morning. 

So when the cars stopped at U , I took my cai-pet 

bag in my hand, and got out upon the platform. 

There was quite a lai-ge number of people at 
the station, but I took no notice of any of them, ex- 
cept a tall, brawny man, in a brown overcoat and 
slouched hat, who started for me as soon as I stepped 
ofi' the cars. 

I stopped and looked at him. He frowned, and 
seemed to restrain himself from some violent action. 
A decidedly ugly-looking customer he was, in truth ; 
but as he was a perfect stranger to me, I really couldn't 
tell what to make of him. Besides, he was backed by a 
short, red- faced, black-bearded, corpulent gentleman, 
who looked as fierce as a tiger. 

I was about to move away, when the slouched hat, 
looking down at the tag of my carpet-bag, started, 
and coming forward, laid his hand heavily on my 
shoulder. 

" You're a villain!" 

"Sir?^' 

" I repeat it — you're a villain ! " 

" A miserable scamp!" said the corpulent gentleman, 
coming forward and scowling more fiercely than ever. 

Now I felt that I was a match for the latter, but as 
to the other one, I didn't doubt but what he might 
work me up into shoe strings in less than three min- 
utes. So, being a cautious man, I thought it best to 
keep my angry passions down. 

" Will yau explain yourselves, gentlemen?" I asked, 
trying to smile. 

"Yes, I wili," answered the big one, putting great 
stress on the "will." 

"Certainly," growled the corpulent gentleman, with 
a grim smile. 

"Come this way, yoii i-ascal," said the tall one, 
drawing me along with him. 

His companion followed us out back of the station, 
where we were out of sight and hearing of the rest of 
U . 



A DUEL OR A WEDDING. 307 

"Now," said the tall geutleman, turninsf and con- 
fronting me, "I'll introduce myself, i am Captain 
Augustus Boynton. This gentleman is my father, 
John Boynton. Do you know us now ? ' 

"Well, really," I replied, wondering in my own 
mind what the deuce was coming; "really, 1 don't 
know anything more about yoa than what you've jusc 
told." 

"Hush!" 'Twas the captain; and he bent down 
and hissed in my ear, "I am Carrie Boyuton's brother." 

"And I am her father," growled John Boynton. 

"Ah, really, I want to know!" I could not help 
smiling, the whole affair seemed so ludicrous. " Give 
my regards to Carrie." 

"Ha! yoa laugh at us, do yon. villain?" cried the 
captain. "Look 'ere,'' said he, lowering his voice to 
a hoi'rid whisper. " Look at these." 

I did look ; for just then he drew from the pocket of 
his brown overcoat a handsome case, and opening it 
displayed a pair of splendid silver-mounted duelling 
pistols. 

" Take your choice." 

A cold tremor ran through my frame. Was I to be 
murdered ? I tried to shout, but I could make no 
sound. The ludicrous affair was becoming decidedly 
seriou.s. Must I fight a duel ? I'd never flred a pistol 
in my life, but just once, and then I tried to kill a cat, 
but failed with the pistol, and had to dash, her brains 
out against a stone wall. 

"Choose quick," urged the captain. 

" Sir," said I, in a tremulous voice, while the cold 
drops of perspiration stood out upon my brow, "there 
mu-must be so-me mis-take. I-I am not the man." 

"Pshaw!" answered the captain, looking down at 
mv carpet bag which I had dropped upon the ground. 
" You are John McDolan, of W ." 

" Xo, sir; I am James McDougal," I replied with 
alacrity, for I now saw whom I was taken for. 

" McDougal be hangedl" growled the captain. "To 
be sure I never saw you before, but I've seen your 
photograph a hundred times. You remember the one 
you gave to Carrie ?" 

" No, sir ; I don't know Carrie. I'm no McDolan at 

all. I'm McDougal of W . I'm book-keeper for 

Brown & Co., dealers in hides and tallow. My father 
was Norton McDougal, my mother was MaryMcDougal, 
my grandfather was — 

'•Confound your grandfather! Either marry my 
sister, as yoa promised to do a month ago, or take one 
of these pistols and " 



308 A. DUEL OR A WEDDISG. 

"Oh! help!" 

"Dry up, you whelp," and the captain clapped his 
great broad hand over my mouth. 

"Choose quick, youngster," said the elder Boyn- 
ton. 

"I won't fight," I cried, throwing myself on the 
ground. 

" Then marry my sister, or we'll drag you through 
the mill-pond." 

It was useless for me to remonstrate. I could not 
convince the enraged father and son that I was not the 
villain McDolan. I dared not cry for help. 

What should I do ? Marry a woman whom T never 
Raw before, whom I knew nothing about? I had little 
time to consider. Life was sweet to me, a ducking was 
disagreeable, and, as to a duel, I should have been a 
dead man at the fir.«t shot. 

" Choose," said the captain, giving me a kick with 
his boot. 

"I'll, I'll mar-marrv her." 

"All right. Get up'." 

And the captain smiled grimly as he returned the 
pistol to the case, the case to the pocket. 

The elder Mr. Boynton went after the carriage; but 
before I had ceased to tremble he returned. 

The captain helped me in ; and then seated between 
the chivalric father and son, I rode away. There 
were plenty of people on the street ; but I was warned 
not to shout, if I knew what was healthy for me. 

We rode at a smart trot for about two miles I should 
think, and then the captain drew rein before a large 
two-story white house, that 'stood near the road, sur- 
rounded by a high white fence. There was a gravel 
walk up to the front door, and several large cherry 
trees stood in the front yard. 

" Here we are," said the captain, getting down and 
motioning me to follow. 

The door opened just as we reached it, and Venus, 
Hebe, Queen Victoria, and General Grant! who should 
fall into my arms but the identical y^ung lady who 
had made such a strong impression upon my heart the 
night of the lecture in W ! 

"Oh, John! I knew you would be true," she cried ; 
and the captain snickered as he led the way into the 
parlor. 

But once there, I succeedpd in convincing Miss Boyn- 
ton that I was not McDolan. Her father apologized, 
and so did the captain, and the upshot of all was that 
I consented to stop over night with them, and I am 
happy to slate tliat I passed a very plea.-aat evening 
uideed. 



HONOR TOUR BUSINESS. 309 

I learned, too, that this John McDolan, for whom I 
had beea taken, was agentiemau of wealth and leisure, 
With only one fault, and that was promising- to marry 
every pretty woman that he became a-quainted with. 

Then I told my story, and both Mr. Boynton and 
tUe captain seemed pleased, and so did Carrie, especi- 
ally when I offered to stand in McDolan's shoes. 

And— well, my dear reader, I did about a mouth, 
afterwards. We had a great weddin^'-, and Clara 
Regard was one of the bridesmaids, and Henry Bowers 
was irroomsman. And I am very well satisfied that 
McDolan took the up train, instead of the down. 



HONOR YOUR BUSlNtSS. 

We recommend the following paragraphs, from the 
London Economist, to all who have a vocation: 

Ic is a good sign when a man is proud of his work 
or calling. Yet nothing is more common than to hear 
men finding fault constantly with their particular 
business, and deeming themselves unfortunate because 
fastened to it by the necessity of gaining a livelihood. 
In this spirit men fret, and laboriously destroy all the 
comfort in their work; or they change their business, 
and go on miserably, shifting from one thing to 
another, till the grave or the poorhouse gives them a 
fast grip, 

But while a man occasionally fails In life, because 
he is not in the place Acted for his peculiar talent, it 
happens tea times oftener that failure results from 
neglect and even contempt of an honest business. A 
man should put his heart into every thing that he 
does. There is not a pi'ofassion that does not have its 
peculiar cares and vexations. No man will escape 
annoyance by changing business. No mechanical 
business is altogether agreeable. Commerce in its 
endless varieties, is affected, like all other human 
pursuits, with trials, unwelcome duties, and spirit- 
tiring necessities. It is the very wantonness of folly 
for a man to search out the frets and burdens of his 
calling, and give his mind every day to a consider-, 
ation of them. They belong to human life. They are 
inevitable. Brooding over them only gives them 
strength. On the other hand, a man has power given 
to him to shed beauty and pleasure upon the homeliest 
toil, if he be wise. Let a man adopt his business and 
identify it with his life, and cover it with pleasant 
associations ; for God has given us imagination, not 



310 GARDENING FOR PROFIT. 

filone to make us poet.s, but to enable men to beautify 
homely thiogs. Heart varuish will cover up innumer- 
able evils and defects. Look at the good things. 
Accept your lot as a man does a piece of rugged 
grouud, and begins to get ouc the rocks and roots, to 
deepen and mellow the soil, to enrich and plant it. 
There is something in the most forbidding avocatiou, 
around which a man may twine pleasant fancies, out 
of which he may develop an honest pride. 



"GARDENING FOR PROFIT." 

BY ZIG. 

There is a book which Mr. Greeley, or some other 
wise vegetable philosopher, says "shows how a 
young man may make a fortune without wandering 
away to ]N'evada or Montana for it." That was wha't 
we wanted. We wanted to make our fortune at our 
owu door. So we sent for the valuable book called 
"Gardening for Profit." Now, the book called Gar- 
dening for Profit has nothing to do with our garden- 
ing for profit, be it understood. "We thought we had 
all the science and art of gardening at our finger-ends. 
"We only sent for Mr. Peter Henderson's book because 
it looked learned. Mr. Peter Henderson is hereby 
fully exonerated fi-om any share in the result. 

We had magnificent ideas of gardening in the ab- 
stract. Great minds in all ages and nations have 
turned their mighty genius towards market gardening, 
pursuing it in the moral entertainment w^y. Cicero 
had a market garden at Tusculuiu. Virgil wrote the 
Georgics in honor of life in the country. The giant 
Anlffius drew his strength Irom his mother earth. 
And many members of the United States Congress, in 
our own times, are farmers when they are at home. 
So, you see, market-gardening is both illusirious and 
honorable. 

But we wanted something more than moral enter- 
tainment. We wanted to miike our fortune without 
journeying to Nevada or Montana. To tell the truth, 
the sands of our pockets had nearly run out. It is a 
melancholy thought that a man's best trowsers are 
becoming shiny m the knees. It is sorrowfully sug- 
gestive when you take to inking the seams of your 
black kid gloves. Heuce the reader will understand 
that we went into gardening for profit. 

A light, sandy loam, well enriched, was the kind to 



GARDENING FOR PROFIT. 311 

make gardening profitable, the book said. So we 
talked about guauo, bone-dust, supei'-phosphates, and 
subsoiling, till the American Agriculturist would have 
gone crazy to hear us. We discussed lime for cab- 
bages, aud carbolic acid for cucumbers. We were 
deep in the mysteries of the striped yellow bug and 
the shiny black bug. Finally we planted some to- 
mato seeds in a box. I am sorry to say the experi- 
ment was not successful. In point of fact, the rats ate 
our tomato seeds up the first night. They siibsoiled 
the earth in our box completely. We thought it was 
a ratty performance on the whole. 

After that we concluded that putting seeds in a box 
aud covering them with earth, so that the poor rats 
would have to dig for them before eating them, was 
too hard on the lats. It was cruel to make the rats so 
much Work. So we abandoned tomatoes. Then we 
turned our giant intellects in the direction of rad- 
ishes. We were induced to cultivate radishes because 
we read that radishes produced more money to the 
acre than any other garden vegetable, besides being 
off the ground in time for a second crop of carrots or 
late cabbages, i^'o we planted radishes. The books 
told us they would pay at the rate of -$600 to the acre. 
But we did not plant an acre ; we planted a bed six 
feet square. 

One evening George brought home two neat, yel- 
lowish-brown packages insci-ibed with letters and ex- 
clamation marks, as thus: 

" Kadishes — Long Scarlet! 
Warranted Fresh and Genuine!" 

We decided to plant them in cold frames, and have 
them far in advance of the market. Whereupon we 
sent for two bixes of glass, to fill the sashes for our 
cold frames We had the sashes made and sent home. 
We had them painted to protect them from the 
weather. Thea we carried them out to where our 
radish-bed was to be; and one windy afternoon, in 
the middle of March, George took off his coat, put 
his hand to the spade, and looked not back. 

" Be sure you make the ground rich, George. To 
make gardening profitable, the soil must be thor- 
oughly enriched," said I, learnedly. 

"Yes'm," answered George. 

"The soil must be well pulverized," says George, 
after a bit. 

I took on my shoulders the work of pulverizing the 
soil. I pulverized till near sundown. I combed the 
bed fore and aft with a fine-toothed rake, and threw 
out every stick as long as your finger, and every stone 



S12 GARDENING FOR PROFIT. 

as big as a lump of sugar. I met with an accident in 
my work of pulverizing che soil. I am unfortunate in 
one respect. If I aim to throw a small object in any 
given direction, the moment it leaves my fingers it iu- 
variably turus into a boomerang. It somehow be- 
comes possessed of the strangest obliquity of direction, 
and wiien it does not come back and impinge upon 
my own unfortunate person, it is absolutely certain to 
go to exactly the opposite point from where I aimed 
it. I canuot understand this perverse peculiarity of 
sticks and stones at all. 

Hence my accident. The bran new sashes for our 
cold frames, resplendent in the March sun, leaned 
against the fence at the north end of our radish bed. 
To make assurance doubly sure, I started out full of a 
brave intention to throw all the stones out on the 
south end. I began my work of making myself use- 
ful. Presently there was a craslf — then a tinkle — then, 
silence. 

I glanced up, full of a dim foreboding of evil. A 
shining section of one of our magnificent new »ashes 
had disappeared! 

George smiled grimly. 

"When you want to throw a stone on that south 
side again, let me know, so I can go aud stand there, 
and not run the risk of having one of 'my lights put 
out," he said. 

I was exasperated, and threw a stone at him. I 
need not add that it struck an innocent log, ck)se to 
myself, aud subsided. 

We planted our radish seed, aud bought a thermom- 
eter to test the temperature. We went out every day 
and dug up two or three radish seed-, aud pinched 
theui open to see if they were sprouting. One morn» 
iug i took my usual toar, aud came back full of great 
news to tell. 

" They've sprouted !" 

Someihing had spi'outed, evidently, which we 
watered every day, and aired, according to directions. 
Finally, JIadame went out to view our radishes. She 
looked at them a moment. We fanci 'd we de'ected a 
faint smile on her visage. The smile d.^epeued and 
broa lened. In fact, Madame laughed aloud. Wasn't 
it all right ? we inquired, anxiously. 

"It's owing to what you want to raise,"' said 
Madame. "If you want a crop of black mu^ard, 
you'll have a fine one." 

True enough; aud our eagle had turned into a crow. 
Truth compels me to say t lat we had be^n carefully 
watering and tending a bed o:' weeds. In a day or 



GARDENING FOK PROFIT. 313 

two more, however, George came in wearing a face of 
solema triumph. Tnis time he made the grand an- 
nouncement — 

"They've sprouted!" 

I hurried out. A few, small, wrinkled, yellowish, 
objects, each with a diniiuutive clod of dirt on its 
head, had made their appearance. The wrinkled, 
yellowish objects were radishes for sure. Madame 
said so. Then 1 went into the house and announced 
to the captain, senteutiously ; 

"In three weeks we'll have radishes for Sunday 
dinner!" 

But I am obliged to record that soon another acci- 
dent befell us. I verily believe that radish-bed was 
possessed. It must have been started the wrong time 
of the moon. I can account for our misfortunes in no 
other way. 

Madame daily rejoiced in the ownership of two pigs. 
They were plump, saucy little fellows, were piggies, 
with bright, brisk eyes, and lively caudal extreme- 
ties. Their innocent, piggish gambols were an object 
of admiration to George aud myself, in common with 
the i-est of the family. But we did not admire them 
quite so much afterwards. Admiration, be it known, 
depends on circumstances, and circumstances alter 
cases. One day we observed some tiny pig tracks on 
the sash which protected our precious radishes. If 
you will pardon the obvious inelegance of expression, 
I would say that we smelt a mice in these pig-tracks. 
We watched suspiciously, aud behold! next day we 
caught piggies in the very ace of taking a promenade 
across the glass top of our cold-frame. That was bad 
enough, aud the captain vowed he would shut them 
up. But, like the man in the play, he only vowed it 
— lie didn't do it ; and a worse fate still was in store 
for us. One fiue day, it was quite warm, and we left 
the sash entirely off our vegetables. Presently the 
captain came in, looking serious. 

"George," said he, "I guess them blamed pigs 
have got into your radish-bed." 

Such was the simple story of our new misfortuae. 
The " blamed pigs " had executed a Black Crook 
dauce over every square inch, from centre to circum- 
ference of our radish-bed. The reader may fancy 
our feelings. Nevertheless, there was an alleviating 
circumstance. There is a tacit understanding between 
us two, tha,t whenever any very outrageous evil 
comes upon us, as for instance the above, each of us 
will amiably endeavor to show the other how much 
each excels the other in respect to \he divine virtue of 



314 GARDENING TOE PROFIT. 

patience. Therefore, in the said case, George— thougli 
I saw how he wanted to swear — only remarked, miid 
as new milk: 

" We can soon plant some more." 

"Yes, and we can soak them in warm water lirst, 
to make them come up sooner," answered I, even 
milder than new milk. 

We thought of Tamerlane's spider which spun its 
thread a hundred and thirteen times, and lelt en- 
couraged. We bought some more " Long Scarlet — 
warranted Fresh and Gennine!" and soaked them 
in warm water. 

"Smell it, George," said I, " and see if they are good 
seed." 

George brought his nose within smelling range of 
the tea-cup containing our second fortune, and — 
withdrew it, sniffiag considerably, 

"It smells worse than an exploded humbug," said 
he. 

We planted our second instalment of radish seeds- 
planted them very carefully this time. But we had 
too many to fill our bed, and half of them were left. 

" We mustn't waste these," said George, solemnly. 
" We must be economical now at first." 

A bright idea struck me. 

"Why can't we plant them out doors? The book 
says radishes may be sown in the open ground, this 
time of year." 

We concluded to plant them in the open ground. 
But it was late Saturday afternoon, and no open ground 
was ready for them. They would keep till Monday, 
Madame said, if they were buried in a cold place. 
I am gratified to be able to say that wiiat happened 
next was brought about entirely by masculine wis- 
dom. I wash my hands of that part of our misfortunes. 
George enveloped the remaining seeds in a stout, 
cotton cloth, called, in kitchen parlance, a rag, and 
then, like a wise philosopher, buried them in the hot- 
bed. 

Monday we forgot all about them. Tuesday we 
recollected them. George prepared a proper place of 
receptiou, and then went to unearth our radish-seed. 
He was a long while about it. When he returned, he 
looked as if he had seen something unusual. In his 
haul he carried the most singular-looking ball. 
Imagine a porcupine, a hedge-hog, an irate pussy, 
anything, in short, which is rolled up round and 
stands out all all over in bristles. 

" Where is the radish-seed ?" I asked. 

He hwld up the singular-looking ball. 



GARDENIIfG FOR PSOPIT. 315 

" I see you have discovered a natural curiosity, but 
why didn't you bring the radish-seed?" 

George lapsed into slang. 

" I tell you them's um," said he. 

And it was. In their determination not to be 
cheated out of sprouting, the stubborn germs had 
foiced their way clear through cotton, cloth and all, 
aod uow stood out in a mass of bristling bayonets, 
defying time and tide. 

"I don't see what made 'em act so," said Geoige. 
"I buried them down deep in a corner of the hot- 
bed." 

"■ In the hot-bed! ^^ I broke out in wrath. "Didn't 
you have any more gumption than to put seeds in a 
hot-bed to keep thein from sprouting ?" 

" I don't think I did,' "he answered, very meekly. 

"A goose would liave known better than that— I'd 
have known better myself," said I, consolingly. 

Our radish-bed in the open ground was done for, of 
course, but meantime we took comfort that our 
radishes in the cold frame were gi owing so beautifully. 
They came up duly, yellow and wrinkled, with the 
little clod of dirt on their heads, at first, then they un- 
folded and grew greener every day. The pigs were 
shut up now, and not a cloud appeared to mar the fair 
sky of our prospects. Madame came out to see them, 
after they had begun to wear a handsome plume of 
green leaves. She looked doubtful. 

"I'm afraid you've made the ground too rich, and 
your radishes '11 grow spindling," she said. 

"But the book said the soil must be thoroughly en- 
riched," I ventured to say, rather timidly. 

"Well, maybe they'll do," she answered. "But 
I'm afraid they won't come to much." 

A week or two more passed. Our radishes had the 
strangest faculty of flourishing like a green bay-tree 
at the top, and dwindling away to nothing at the root, 
somehow. And one morning George said: 

"I guess your radishes are going to be all top and 
no tail." 

My radishes indeed ! 

The book stated that the radishes would be ready 
to eat in four or five weeks It was six weeks yester- 
day since we planted ours. At the present writing, 
each radish exhibits a luxuriant crown of bright 
green leaves, held down to the ground by an elongated, 
diminutive red string. That is the present aspect of 
affairs. Occasionally the captain looks mildly over 
nis spectacles at me and says: 

"Are you going to let us have some radishes for 
dinner to-day?" 



B16 THE LUUR. 

Mark Twain says somewhere that if cabbages were 
eleveu dollars a head, Mr. Greeley's farming would 
pay. George and 1 have made a computation that if 
radishes were worth fifty cents a top, ours would 
bring us in enough to pay for our two boxes of glass. 



THE LUUR. 

I WAS travelling late one summer evening thi'ougb. 
one of the most lonely and picturesque valleys of the 
western coast of Norway. It was impassable for all 
save the sure-footed mouutain-poay of that country, 
so that I prelerred often to trudge a few miles on foot, 
my luggage, rods, &c., being strapped on the pony's 
back, it was one of those delicious evenings that are 
to be found, I think, only in northern latitude.s ; for 
though it was close on midnight, the sun still shone 
on the tops of the mountains that hemmed in either 
side of the narrow valley, while below was quite 
light enough to read the smallest print with ease. 
My guide and pony were about a couple of hundred 
yards in front of me, for I loitered behind every now 
and then to admire the grandeur of the scene, or to 
watch the ever-shifting li^ht on a distant glacier, 
which looked more like a sea of opal than anything 
else to which I can compare it. Indeed, every yai d I 
advanced, there was something fresh to wonder at. 
Now it was a torrent falling perendiculaily down- 
ward from the heights above, and losing itself long 
ere it reached the bottom in masses of feathery spray, 
affording a woudi-ou^ display of aquatic fireworks ; 
now it was a grand waterfall, leaping and dashing 
down the field side in impetuous haste to reach the 
river, that fretted and chafed alone like an angry ser- 
pent at the bottom of the valley. And yet, with all 
the din and noise of the roaring flood, there was a 
deathly oppressive stillness. Not a breath of wind 
stirred, not a sound of animal life was heard, save 
here and there the tinkling of a distant cow-bell, the 
whirring of a goatsucker on the wing, or the splash 
of a salmon in the river below. 

All at once, however, 1 was startled by hearing a 
loud though melodious sound far above my head 
among the rocks. It reminded me more of the Alpine 
horn than anything J had ever heard. 

"What is that?" I inquired, as I hastened on to 
catch up to my gu.de. 

" It is a IvAir 1 " was the reply. A luur, 1 must in- 
form my readers, is a long horn made of birchen bark, 



THE LUUR. 317 

•which the peasants use to collect uieir cattle. It 
struck me at the time as being strange for people to 
be out at that time of night so late with their cattle ; 
but my attention was soon diverted to other objeits, 
and I daresay I dismissed the strangeness of the in- 
cident from my thoughts with the reflection that noth- 
ing could in truth be strange in a country where day 
and night were one. 

Before long, I arrived at the farm-house where I 
was expected, and where I intended staying a few 
weeks salmon fishing. Late though it was, my host 
was waiting to receive me. He was a middle-aged 
man, with long flaxen hair flowing down to his 
shoulders, and was dressed in full national costume. 
He greeted me in true Norwegian style, and after ex- 
pressing his fears that I must be weary, led the way 
into the house, where an ample supper was laid out 
for me. I had an introduction to him from a friend 
of his in Christiania, who promised me some excel- 
lent fishing, if I would consent to put up with a 
rough life for a few weeks. 

Ingebrset — such was the name in which my host 
rejoiced — was a^ tall, broad-built man. His features 
were finely chiselled ; in fact he was a person who 
could not fail to attract attention wherever he might 
be. He was a widower, but his only daughter, Inge- 
leiv, lived at home with him, and managed his do- 
mestic affairs for him. These two, with some half- 
dozen farm-servants and their families, who lived in 
huts close by the farm-house, formed the whole popu- 
lation to be found for a distance of several miles. 
Ingeliev was a true specimen of a Norwegian moun- 
tain beauty ; tall in figure, like her father, with the 
same auburn hair, and blue melting eyes, she pre- 
sented a picture that an artist would have loved to paint, 

'Twas beauty truly blent, whose red and white 

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. 

There was a something, too, about her that attracted 
my attention ; perhaps it was her bearing approach- 
ing almost to stateliness, that struck me. Ac ail 
events, she seemed immeasurably superior to what a 
Norwegian farmer's daughter usually is. 

But before retiring to bed, my host informed me, to 
my surprise, that he was a lineal descendant of the 
great Harald Haarfager ("fair-haired.") His family, 
he said with an air of conscious dignity, had never 
mingled with any who were not of royal blood. He 
was the last of his race, and before he died he hoped 
to see his daughter married to a cousin of his, who 
lived I forget where. 



318 THE LUXJR. 

How strange it all seemed to me! There, amid the 
fastness of the mountains, to meet with a man who 
could trace his descent from kings whose names 
have left a stamp on the pages of history. Turn- 
ing these things over and over in my mind, I soou 
fell into a peaceful slumher. How lung 1 slept I 
know not, bat I was awakened by hearing the 
same plaintive sound of the luur on the mountain 
side opposite. I sprang out of bed, and throwing 
the window open, distinctly beard a voice calling or 
rather singing in a melodious key: "How is 

?" And here followed a word I could not 

catch ; and tlien another voice at a long distance 
ofif took up the strain, and made some reply m 
the same harmonious key. I listened to hear it re- 
peated, but all was still ; so again seeking my 
couch, I resumed my dream about monstrous sal- 
mon and countless herds of reindeer. 

Next morning I was soon down ; and as Ingeliev 
was laying out breakfast for me in the hirge kitchen, 
her father came in from seeing after his farm, and 
made earnest and polite inquiries about the way in 
which I had passed the night. 

'"Famously!" 1 answered; "but some of your 
people were early astir, for I could hear two voices 
on yonder mountains as if after the cows ;" and j.ut- 
ting my hands to my mouth I imitated as well as I 
could the sound I had heard. 

" Strange!" he answered ; " for I have no cattle on 
the mountain this summer. Did you hear it, Inga?" 
turning to his daughter. 

But Inga's averted face, which was the color of 
scarlet, plainly showed me that she did know some- 
thing more about it than her father knew. So think- 
ing it might be a lover, and that they were obliged to 
adopt this method of courting, or of "luring" each 
other, 1 quickly turned thesuV)ject and spoke of other 
things. From that day, however, Ingeliev avoided 
me, and thus deprived lae of any opportunity of find- 
ing out the mystery of the luur. 

1 will not fatigue my reader by dwelling on the 
sport I had with the salmon, nor yet on the excur- 
sions I made alter reindeer in company with my 
host, who was a clever hunter and capital shot ; 
sufKce it to say, 1 thoroughly enjoyed myself. But 
alas! it was time for me to think of leaving ; and I 
was the more sorry, because I could see that Inga 
was evidently unhappy, and woi'e about her pretty 
Hnd formerly cheerful face an air which betokened 
^reat mental suflering. 



THE LUtlR. 319 

It was late in tlie evening when I bade my kind 
friends adieu, fur I wished again to tl■avel•.■^e that 
moumaiu valley by night. iMy5-A:2/fe-&02/,(they call them 
all bi<ys in Korway, whether ihey be old men, or 
even of the opposite gender,) or post-boy, was an in- 
teliigeut youth of two or three and twenty years. 
We soon became gi eat friends, and in less thnu half 
au hour he had communicated the history of his life 
tome. " He had been educated as a schoolmaster," 
he said, " but was now only a laboriug servant on. 
an adjacent farm." 

" Everybody ^eems to fall instead of ris3 in these 
parts," 1 thougiit to myself, when he had concluded 
his tale. Our road lay up a steep rocky path. Carl 
— such was the lad's name — was leading the pony 
in trout by the bridle, winle I as usual was saunteiiug 
behind to catch a last long look of the lovely scene, 
when again 1 was aroused from my reverie by seeing 
him place his hands to his mouth, and directing his 
voice towards the mountains, send forth a plaintive 
sound. In a lew seconds 1 heard it luxiwu back from 
the ruck>, and should doubtless have thought it was 
but the echo, had not the waving of a wonian's gar- 
ment two bundled feet above my head attracted my 
eye. 

'•I will find out this mystery before I go," I said 
aloud, Jor, indeed, so engrossed had I been with fi-;hiug 
and shooting, that it had quite escaped my memory. 
" Carl," I said, " what is tl.at ?" 

He seemed quite taken aback at the suddenness of 
the question, but laughed it off by saying he was only 
calling for amusement. 

" But, I tell you, some one answered you up yonder ; 
and see, she is waving her hand towards us. I will 
go and see ; do you wait below." 

And in a few moments 1 had clambered up the hill- 
side to where I had fancied I had seen the woman 
standing. She was no longer visible ; but 1 obsei-ved 
a low hut built of leafy boughs, a few paces off, nearly 
hidden behind a rocky ledge. 

Carl now caught me up, and tried to dissuade me 
from entering ; but the despair depicted on his face 
only made me the more re.-olved to carry out my de- 
termination, so, with pushing him back, 1 opened the 
door and entered the hut. 

A strange sight met my eye. On the middle of the 
floor was a little cradle, in which a rosy-cheeked baby 
lay sleeping, while kneeling down by its side, as if 
keeping guard over her child's slumber, was its mother. 
She raised her head on my approach, and I saw, to my 



330 THE LDUK. 

astonisLment, that it was none other than the pretty 
daughter of my host. " Ingeleiv !" I said, "yon here!" 
as the whole mystery now lay open before me. 

"Oh, tell him, Carl!" she answered, bowing her 
head down, as if afraid to look me in the face — " tell 
him! I know he is a kind man, and may help ns!" 

Thus solicited, Carl narrated to me the following 
touching tale: 

They had been brought up together, he said, from 
childhood, and what wonder if they became all in all 
to each other. He knew he was not worthy of her, 
and that Ins;ebrset would never give his daughter to 
him — a common farming-man. But he would make 
himself worthy of her ; lind so he studied hard at his 
books, and, with the help of the good i)astor, had hoped 
to be able to take a post as schoolmaster (an office held 
in great res] ect amoug the peasantry.) But it was all 
in vain ; he had no royal blood in his veins ; and neither 
prayers nor entreaties could move the stern old man 
from his purpose of wedding his daughter to one of the 
same family with herself. " Then," said Carl, "Iwas 
miserable, and thought I had better leave the world as 
quickly as I could, for there was nothing in it worth 
living for now. But she came to me, just as I was 
about to—'' and his voice failed as he came to this part 
of his story, " and promised to share weal or woe with 
me, and in a weak moment I consented. And now — 
now — she is made as wretched as myself; and I — I 
alone am her destroyer." 

Words would fail me were I to attempt to describe 
the scene that followed the conclusion of his simple but 
touching tale; indeed, I was so moved myself at the 
distress of the two young people, that it is best to draw 
a veil over it. 

" But where has the child been all this while ? " I 
inquired. 

"Here, sir!" answered Carl. "I built this hut, and 
Ingeleiv and I take it in turns, as we can. to bi-with it."' 

"And how far is this from your father's house?" I 
inquired of Ingeleiv. 

" About three miles ; but Carl has twice that distance 
to go ;" and the tears rolled fast down her cheek. 

" You see, sir," Added Carl, "as yet during the sum- 
mer we have been able to manage ; but now that the 
days are becoming shorter and shorter, and winter is 
coming on, God above only knows what will be the 
end of it." And here Carl followed Ingeleiv's exam- 
ple, and cried like a child. 

" Well, cheer up, my friends; I'll do what I can to 
help you ; but you must agree to act according to my 



THE LUUR. 821 

directions. Let us wait till to-morrow, however ; it is 
too late to think of doing anything at this late hour." 
So, spreading my rug down on the ground, and making 
a pillow of my knapsack, and lighting that unfailing 
source of consolation, a good cigar, I lay down aud 
smoked, thought over the best plan to be adopted to 
make things smooth, and then fell asleep. 

Next morning, we all set out for Ingeleiv's house, 
I need not say how surprised my old friend was to see 
me return so quickly. 

"What! you couldn't leave the salmon then!" he 
said. 

Meanwhile, Carl had taken the child, and loitered 
a little behind on the road, while Ingeleiv slipped into 
the house unobserved. 

"Yes," I said, entering the house ; and then after a 
few commonplace remarks, I led the conversation to a 
topic on which the old man never wearied of hearing 
himself or others talk — namely, the old kings of Nor- 
way. But I was determined not to humor him to his 
full bent this time ; for when he got on his favorite 
hobbyhorse, it was difficult to stop him ; so I turned 
the conversation to hard-hearted parents and ill-as- 
sorted marriages, and told him about Philip of Spain, 
D'Aguesseau, and others ; and then, when I saw I had 
made some impression — for the old man received any 
historical fact, especially when it related to the great 
of the earth, with implicit confidence — and had ex- 
cited his curiosity. I concocted a little history exactly 
similar in all respects to that of Ingeleiv and Carl ; and 
when I had concluded, I took down two books from 
the book-shelf, which gave evident signs of having 
been well studied. 

" Here, Ingebr^et,'' I said, taking up one — it was his 
favoi'ite book — the History of the Kings of Norway — 
" here is a book which tells you all about the lives and 
(Jeaths of royalty; but here is a book" (it was the 
Bible) " which teaches us that in God's sight, who is 
King of all kings, we all are equal. Humility, for- 
giveness, and love, are the lessons it tea,ches us." And 
then running out of the room, and fetching back the 
infant in a trice, I laid it in his arms, saying; " And 
there i-s your daughter's child, Ingebrset, and it prays 
through me that you will not repulse your own blood 
from you ; remember, too, that the blood of old Harald 
Haarfager is flowing in its veins. " 

It was a strange way of breaking news, dear reader, 

you may perhaps say ; and you are qaite right. Bat 

still I think it was the most effective way 1 could have 

adopted. That last touch about the child being of royal 

21 



333 HOME, SWEET HOME. 

descent was, I have ever since thought, the most mas- 
terly and diplomatic thing I ever did in my life. A 
death-like paleness came over the old man's face. I 
felt it was a critical moment, and I did not keep silence. 
Never, I am sure, did I talk so fast, beg, pray, or en- 
treat so hard as I did then. At last he began to relent ; 
for at first he was all for driving his daughter out from 
home and hearth. Not that he vrould have done it, I 
am sure, for he loved her dearly. But by degrees, 
when the first shock was over, and when Inga had 
thrown herself down on the floor, and had embraced 
his knees, begging for mercy for herself and helpless 
babe, the rigid muscles of his face began to quiver, 
and he burst into tears. 

"Nothing like a good cry," I thought to myself, as 
Ihurriea out to fetch ia Carl ; "it does man and woman 
good when practiced in moderation." 

Carl was not slow to follow Inga's example; and at 
last, when I fairly saw the baby still in the old man's 
arms, while Inga and Carl were at his feet, I thought 
the tableau did not require the addition of myself, so 
I retreated and had a pipe over it. How fragrant that 
pipe of tobacco tasted ! tor had I not made peace — had 
I not brought joy to two sorrowing hearts? 

Going away next day, or the next, or the next to 
that, was quite out of the question. I was obliged to 
complete what I had begaa ; so I spent my time till 
the wedding-day, fishing and shooting, and otherwise 
amusing myself, happy in the consciousness that I 
had at last really done a good thing in my life. 

I was Carl's best man ! What a wedding-dinner we 
had! — and what speeches! Of course my health was 
drunk ; and if only Carl had not dwelt too much on 
my extraordinary virtues, I should have said he had 
made a most ap7'opos speech for a bridegroom. 

I often go to see my old Norwegian friends and to 
fish. The old man has gone to his fathers ; but Carl 
and Inga, and a whole tribe of olive-branches, look 
for my coming regularly when the salmon begin, to 
run up the river. 



"HOME, SWEET HOME." 

In Sir Philip Sidney's " Defence of Poesy," the no- 
ble author says: "I never heard of the old song of 
Percy and Douglass, that I found not my heart moved 
more than with a trumpet." Some other writer had 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 323 

said : " Let me write the songs of a people, and I care 
not who makes their laws." 

We are inclined to think that of all the contributions 
which ihe genius of poetry has made to the literature 
of the world, songs are destined to achieve the widesc 
aud enduring fame. The reason for this is found in 
the fact that they ttppeal not so much to the intellect- 
ual as to the emotioaal nature, aud touch the simple, 
untutored instincts of the heart rather than the more 
highly cultivated faculties of the brain. A true song 
is nothing but our common humanity, with its hopes 
and fearr, joys and sorrows, loves and ambitions, 
moulded into verse and set to music. Such a song — 
aud none others are worthy tlie name — translates 
itself at once into all languages, aud is understood 
by the people of every race, clime, and condition. 
Springing, as it does, from the depths of that univer- 
sal sympathy which gathers about us like God's own 
sunshine, aud links the great family of mankind into 
a brotherhood of feeling, no education, no particular 
refinement is needed to comprehend and enjoy it. To 
the large majority of persons, perhaps, the works of 
Homer and Virgil, Dante and Milton, Shakespeare and 
Byron, are sealed volumes. They have heard of these 
giants in the realm of letters, they bow before the 
shadow of their mighty presence, the glory of their 
splendid names, but they have never talked with them 
lace to face, aud they know them only by reputation. 
The Iliad and the ^aeid, the Inferno and Paradise 
Lost, Macbeth and Childe Harold, are for the cultivated 
few — not for the uncultivated many. They will exist 
as long as there is a literature in Christendom ; but 
books might be blotted from the earth to-morrow, and 
the very memory of them annihilated, yet the songs 
of the people would still live, and lend to rugged bar- 
barism aud brutkl ignorauce the graceful charm of 
that better era which had passed away. Gibbon 
says, in speaking of Henry Fielding, whose lineage 
was identical with that of the House of Hapsburg: 
"The descendants of Charles the Fifth may despise 
their brethren of England, but the romance ot Tom 
Jones, that exquisite picture of human manners, will 
out-live the palace of the Escurial, and the Imperial 
Eagle of the House of Au-stria." 

If this be true of a novel, is it not infinitely more 
true of any melody which the world has learned by 
heart? The time may arrive when the characters of 
that famous fiction shall have faded into oblivion, but 
" Auld Lang Syne" and "Home, Sweet Home" will 
last as long as the eternal hills. 



324 HOME, SWEET HOME. 

America, as yet, has produced no song writer. No 
one has done for her what Barns did for Scotland, 
Moore for Ireland, and Beranger for France. Not even 
the popular enthusiasm, which shook the nation to its 
centre during the late civil war, oould give birth at 
the North to any finer inspiration than "John Brown's 
soul," and " Kally 'round the Flag, Boys." The 
South, indeed, was a little more fortunate, for in 
"Maryland, my Maryland," we recognize a spark of 
the same divine fire which flashes forth in the " Mar- 
seillaise," and " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled." 
The country, therefore, owes no ordinary debt of grat- 
itude to John Howard Paine, who, if he did not write 
enough to entitle him to a recognized place among the 
the authors of this class, has at least given us one 
song which is already beyond the reach of chance or 
change — a household word, sacred and secui-e. If 
fame is to be estimated by wide-spread popularity, we 
had rather be the author of "Home, Sweet Home," 
than all the verses of all the poets our land has known 
from its earliest age to the present hour. There is lit- 
tle in the ballad when|we subject it to critical analy- 
sis, and yet this very simplicity is the precious gem 
which has snatched it from forgetfulness, and blended 
the familiar lines with the holiest association of the 
fire-side. How curious that this humble daisy, this 
"wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower" should grow 
and blossom into fair renown, when so many mon- 
archs of the forest lie prone in the dust, unnoticed 
and unknown! 

The more important facts of Payne's life require but 
brief mention. He was born in New York, June 9th, 
1792, and at an early age manifested decided literary 
and dramatic talent. When only thirteen years of 
age, he conducted a small periodical called the Thes- 
pian Ilirror, which attracted the attention of a gen- 
tleman named Seaman, who generously offered to 
defray the expenses of his education at Union College. 

Pecuniary difficulties, which involved his father, 
forced him to leave this institution before the comple- 
tion of his studies, and, in order to support his im- 
poverished family, Payne went upon the stage, making 
his debut at the Park Theatre, New York, February 
24, 1809, in the character of "Young Norval." His 
success was so unmistakable, that he continued his 
new profession, performing in the principal Eastern 
cities, and in 1813 went to England, where he re- 
ceived a cordial welcome, and became a great popular 
favorite. Heremained abroad for nearly twenty years, 
leading a Bohemian U' and figuring alternately as 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 325 

au actor, playwright, and manager, gaining some 
reputation, but little money. 

"Home, Sweet Home" was penned in a garret of 
the Palais Eoyal, Paris, when poor Payne was so 
utterly destitute and friendless that he knew not 
where the next day's dinner was coming from. 

It appeared originally in a diminutive opera called 
"Clari, the Maid of Milan." The opera is seldom 
seen or heard of now, but the song grows nearer and 
dearer to us as the years roll away, for "it is not of 
an age, but for all time." More than once the unfor- 
tunate authur, walking the lonely streets of London 
or Paris, amid the storm and darkness, hungry, 
houseless, and penniless, saw the cheerful light 
gleaming through the windows of happy homes, and 
heard the music of his own song drifting out upon 
the gloomy night to mock the wandering heart with 
visions of comfort and of joy, whose blessed reality 
was forever denied to him. ''Hume, Sweet Hoilie " 
was written by a homeless man. 

In 1832, Payne returned to this country, and, after 
pursuing literary avocations with iuditferent success 
for a few years, w-is finally appointed Consul at 
Tunis, where he died June oth, 1852. One passage in 
his ill-starred career tinges it with a hue of melan- 
choly romance, and perhaps explains the secret of his 
restless erratic character. 

Maria Mayo, afterwards Mrs. General Scott, was a 
queenly beauty in her youthful days ; whose charms 
of person and of mind made her the acknowledged 
belle of that venerable State whose soil had been no 
less prolific of fascinating women than of gallant 
men. The legend prevails in Richmond that Payne 
met Miss Mayo, and fell madly in love with her. The 
homage of a poet could hardly be other than flattering 
even to one whose shrine was worshipped by scores 
of richer devotees, and possibly he mistook the smiles 
she gave him for the evidence of reciprocated passion ; 
but be this as it may, the same old story was enacted. 
He staked his happiness, his peace, on woman's love, 
and — lost. 

Thenceforth life had no attractions for him, and he 
sought an exile on the barren shores of Africa as a 
welcome relief from the bitter disappointment which 
had crushed out hope and ambition here. The sands 
of the desert have long since covered the grave of 
Howard Payne, and the place where, "after life's fit- 
ful fever, he sleeps well," is unknown; but " Home, 
Sweet Home" is a monument which will carry his 



336 POPULAR PROVERBS. 

name and fame to remotest posterity, and stand firm 
whea effigies of marble and of bronze shall sink into 
indistinguishable decay. 



POPULAR PROVERBS. 

The Dean of Chester recently delivered in that c'.ty 
an amusing lecture on the above subject, of which an 
English paper gives the following abstract: 

He said he might compare proverbs to bottles con- 
taining the otto of roses, sometimes very odd aud 
grotesque in appearance, but containing much fra- 
grance in a little space, and would keep fresh a very 
long time. Complete proverbial sentences were of two 
kinds — either exhortive, such as " Make hay while 
tbe sun shines," "Think of ease but work on," 
"Patdon others but not thyself," "Pull down thy 
hat on the windy side," or the Spanish one of " Dine 
with thy aunt but not every day ;" or indicative, such 
as these: — "Half a loaf is better than no bread," 
" Where the hedge is lowest most people go over," or, 
as poor Ptichard says, " Silks and satins put out the 
kitchen fire," "Experience keeps a dear school, buc 
fools will learn no other." " Look not a gift hor.se in 
the mouth," might be thought to have come from 
Yorkshire, but it was found in mediaeval history, and 
he had found it among American proverbs. "One 
butcher is not afraid of a thousand sheep," is a pro- 
verb current now in Alexandria, and was uttered by 
the founder of that city. " The gray mare is the 
better horse," was said at the time that a number of 
gray horses were sent to England from Elauders. 
The saying, "Bobbing Peter to pay Paul," arose 
from the bishopric of Si. Peter's, Westminster, being 
transferred to that of St. Paul's, Ludgate Hill. There 
was a good saying of Archbishop Whately's, "Don't 
shiver for last year's snow." What an applicable 
saying this was for those who were making them- 
selves miserable over troubles that were past. He 
found this saying in a letter of a quaker lady, ' ' Some 
people seem to be starched before they are washed " 

The international relationship of proverbs was next 
alluded to. In Friesland they say " Don't sell your 
herrings before you catch them;" we say, "Don't 
buy a pig in a poke," whilst in the tropics the saying 
takes the form of " No man buys yams whilst they 
are yet in the ground." There was a common saying, 
"A child that has been scalded fears cold water." 



POPULAR PROVERBS. 827 

"We have often given point to our advice by saying, 
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," whilst 
in the districts on the banks of the Nile, wuere cranes 
are abundant, the people say, "A thousand birds in 
the air are not equal to one spai-rovv in the fist." We 
have a beautiful saying, "Every oak was once an 
acorn;" and there was the same truth and poetry 
in the African form, "The great calabash tree had a 
seed for its mother." We were so accustomed to re- 
peat that solemn sentence from the prayer book, and 
it had become so proverbial, that sometimes wo 
thought it was in the Bible -namely, "In the midst 
of lii'e we are in death." How thoroughly Asiatic 
was this: — "Death is a black camel that kneels at 
every man's gate." Among the ancient Hebrew say- 
ings the following are proverbs expressive of sagacity : 
— "First build your house, and then think of your 
furniture;" "A man envies every other man except 
his son and his pupil ;" " Yo\r may see that the man 
is a collier by the black walls of his house;" "At the 
doors of taverns friends are plentiful ; at the doors of 
prisons they are all gone;" " By the road of By-and- 
by one arrives at the town of Kev«r." 

The proverbs of Africa, Egypt, and the Guinea coast 
partook largely of the physical aspect and moral 
characteristics of the country. We say in England of 
a lucky person, " He was born with a silver spoon in 
his mouth." On the banks of the Nile they say, 
"Throw him into the river and he will come up with 
a fish in his mouth." As to the propriety of not despis- 
ing little things, "A small date-stone is large enough 
to prop up a large water-jar." Scotland was pe- 
culiarly lich in proverbs, and many of them were 
marked by a dry, caustic, sagacious humor. Now 
that he had come near the Welsh border, he found the 
principality was rich in proverbs; for instance, "If 
thou wouldst have- praise, die;" "By the side of 
sickness health becomes sweet ;" " He is not altogether 
bad who maketh another better;" "No man is good 
unless others are made better by him;" "If every 
fool wore a crown, we should all be kings." Ireland 
appeared to him to be poor in proverbs. It was rather 
odd that it should be so, when two Archbishops of 
Dublin had done more to create an interest for prov- 
erbs than any other men of our time. He met with 
one characteristic saying, namely; — "Don't throw 
out your dirty water until you have got in your 
clane." The lecturer then gave the following speci- 
mens of American proverbs: — "You had a rough row 
to hoe to-day ;" " When a fellow gets to going down 



at tossed che 

saying, " It J 

lent and the .fl 

;asbire was, 1 



328 HELEN'S GOOD WORK. 

hill, it does seem as though everything had been 
greased for the occasion ;" " Some men are like blind 
mules, always wanting to kick, only never know 
where." Another characteristic of some of these say- 
ings was a very amusing degree of self-confidence: — 
" Some people say that ignorance is bliss ; it may be 
60, but I haven't tried it." 

With regard to Cheshire, he must be allowed to say 
ft few words. There was one, perhaps, that might be 
applied to himself if he attempted to quote Cheshire 
proverbs — namely, that he should be speaking to as 
much purpose " as a goose slurring upon ice." There 
was one proverb in this city which was a local version 
of another common proverb — " When the daughter is 
stolen, close the Peppergarte." This was an illusion 
to an ancient mayor, who was probably well known 
to all in the room. There was another saying — " He 
is as idle as Loudon's dog, and that leaned against 
the wall to walk." In the Fen country they had a 
saying, which they applied to a man with no taste for 
music: — " He is like Mat Davies' bull, that tossed the 
fiddler into the tree." The French have a 
is a sorry house in which the cock is sil< 
hen crows." A common saying in Lancn 
"The peas are higher than the pea sticks," which 
meant that when men rose higher than those who 
helped them to rise, they did not know which way to 
turn. There was no place more prolific than a black- 
smith's shop in sententious sayings. For instance, 
" Some men are born hammers, and others are born 
anvils.' ' "If the hammer strikes hard the anvil lasts 
the longest;" and this saying came true of some men. 
"Once he was a hammer, now he is an anvil." " It 
does't follow that because your face is black that 
therefore you are a smith." " The sword has forgot- 
ten the smith that forged it." Familiar allusions 
were made to the cat's paw. It was the monkey that 
made use of the cat's paw for taking the chestnuts out 
of the fire. "Dress a monkey in silk, and she is a 
monkey still." "The higher a monkey climbs, the 
more he shows his tail," etc. 



HELEN'S GOOD WORK. 

" Dead to the waist. " 

She heard the doctor whisper the words to his fair 
young compHuiou, and a violent flush passed over her 
face as she lifted her head from the cushioned back of 



HELEN'S GOOD WORK. 829 

her chair, and replied to some caressing remark of her 
father, who had just come in to take a look at his 
darling, ere going off to the fields, whose golden 
wheat was to he gathered into the garner upon that 
bright August morning. 

Her small fingers closed spasmodically around the 
farmer's rugged hand. 

"What is it, Nina, my pet?" he said, dropping on 
his knees beside her, and smoothing back the dark 
hair from her forehead. "Don't you want father to 
go to work this morning?" 

He spuke to her as to a child, she replying with all 
of a child's pettishness. 

"I don't want ajuy thing 1 I am only tired and 
»ick." 

" Hush ! hush! my darling," said the father, sooth- 
ingly, as the girl began to sob in that sudden and 
violent manner, pec.iliar to those of impassioned tem- 
perament. " What will the lady think of you ? " 

Following his question, came a voice whose sweet- 
ness suggested the divine gift of song, and whose 
words were full of tenderness. 

" Let her weep, it will do her good. Poor child ! 
poor little one !" 

And the speaker, a young and lovely woman, left 
her place by the physician's s^de, and advanced to- 
ward the invalid. 

" Nina," said Farmer Adamson, " do you not speak 
to this lady ? Dr. Thome has told you her name, has 
he not?" 

" Our little girl was in one of her wayward moods 
when Miss Gervaise and myself came in, a few min- 
utes since," said the doctor. " She would not look at 
nor speak to me." 

" Why do you bring people to see me — to pity me. 
You know how I hate to be stared at — to be pitied." 

Heedless of the ungracious words, Helen Gervaise 
bent from ber tall height and laid her hand upon the 
girl's forehead. 

"Child," she said, " I did not come to stare at you, 
nor to pity you. I came to be your friend. Will you 
not let me, Nina?" 

"Why do you call me child?" and the black eyes 
turned stubbornly away from the lady's tender beau- 
tifal gaze. " I am no child. I am twenty years old, 
and — " and the voice sank into a sobbing wail, "some- 
times it seems to me that I am years older than that. 
The months and years are so dreary. 0, my God! 
How much longer am I to live !" 

The father turned and passed quicl/.ly from the 



330. HELEN'S GOOD WORK. 

room, but Helen Gervaise caught a glimpse of tears 
upon his furrowed cheeks, and his face wore the scern 
pallor of intense anguish. 

JNTor had the man's emotion escaped Dr. Thorne. 

" Nina," he said, angrily, " you are breaking your 
father's heart." 

"Am I?" she said, smiling — but oh ! such a. .smile ! 
its ghastliness sent a shudder through Helen's frame. 

"You, too, suffer terribly," she murmured, sitting 
down beside the paralytic. " I pity yon from the 
depths of my soul!" 

The words were inadvertent. Nina Adamson's 
laugh, mocking and scornful, rang through the room. 

"Ha! so you did come to pity me, after all. Well, 
well, go home again, lady. 1 don't want your pity, 
nor any one's. Look! there are some women who 
would scarcely pity me for thi.-s !" and, uncoiling her 
hair, its heavy masses fell around her like a mantle, 
sweeping over the arms of her chair, and down until 
it rested upon the floor in shininy, sjilendid darkness. 

" You think it bea itiful," she said, noting the lady's 
looks of wonderment, for this superb chevalure was 
indeed calculated to awake surprise. "I used to 
think it beautiful, too ; used to be proud of it, and of 
my white skin, and black eyes — but I don't care now. 
I hate everything—! hate everybody — 1 hate Him 
who made me this way !" 

"God help us!" ejaculated Dr. Thorne. "It's 
awful to hear such a young being utter blasphemy." 
Then he whispered to Miss Gervaise : 

"Come away, Helen. When these moods come 
upon her, her language, at times, is fearful." 

" Are you telling her how wicked I am ?" cried the 
girl, her nostrils dilating fiercely. " Oh ! how good, 
how pious you would be, silting here, year after year, 
with half of you dead as a stone — if you couldn't 
read — if you couldn't write— if you hated to sew and 
knit— if you had no mother — if you had no brothers 
or sisters — if your father had to work like a slave for 
you— if — " 

Helen Gervaise motioned the physician away, as 
Nina, exhausted and again weeping, hid her face in 
her hands. 

He went out, saying : " I will call for you in an 
hour." 

Then, with her gentle womanly soul shining 
through her eyes, she spoke to the weeping girl. 

"Nina, I will be your sister, Look at me, child ; 
do you not think you could learn to love me?" 

It was hard to resist the dulcet sweetness of the 



Helen's good work. 331 

voice. Nina's hand dropped upon her lap, and lifting 
lier dark eyes, ske took a long surv^ey of the face bend- 
ing near her. 

'•You are very beautiful," she said, after some 
moments, "and you look as if you were good— are 
you?" 

Helen laughed a little at the naive question. What 
a curious blending of child and woman is here, she 
thought, then she said: 

" Am I good ■? Wot very, Nina, although I try to be 
so." 

"7 am wicked ; you can't think how wicked. — 
Every one but father hates me ! " 

" No, no, Nina, you must not say that." 

"But I will say it, and it is the truth. I don't care 
much, though — 1 don't love any one but my father. I 
think I Could love you, but I won't let myself," 

" And why, Nina ?" 

"Because, after a while, when you found out how 
cross and wicked I am, you would despise me, and 
then I should be wretched enough." 

"I will never despise you, my child, and it re<ts 
with you to say whether we shall not become the 
most famous friends in the world Listen to me, 
Nina. I am going to remain in the village until next 
July. Dr. Thome is my brother-in-law ; it is at his 
house that I am staying. He was speaking of you 
this morning to my si.-ter, and I becoming interested 
in your case, asked him to bring me to see you — " 

" And are you glad or sorry that you came?" 

"Very, very glad. I mean to come and see you 
every day while I am here — that is, if you would like 
me to." 

"Yes, I should like it ; but you will get tired soon. 
Ah ! you haven't told me your name yet." 

"Helen — Helen Gervaise." 

"It is a proud and pretty name — Miss Gervaise — " 

" Call me Helen." 

" Helen — would — would you mind if you kissed 
me?" 

The lady's caress met the full crimson lips uplifted 
to her, and just at that moment Dr. Thorne appeared. 

She turned to him gaily. 

" You see we are friends already. There ! don't 
lookso sad, Miss Nina," as the girl's eyes grew moist, 
and her lips pouted, as her new-found friend rose 
to depart. "I will come again to-morrow, and stay 
with you for a couple of hours." 

"Shall I call Margaret, Nina?" asked Dr. Thorne, 
kindly. 



33a HELEN'S GOOD WORK. 

This was the one woman servant of the Adamson 
household — maid of all work, as well as attendant 
upon the invalid. 

" 2^0," was the return, very gently given. ''I don't 
want anything, thank you." 

So the two left her, she waving her little white 
hand as they looked back toward her, after gaining 
the lane which led from the farm-house into the pub- 
lic road. 

" She interests me more than any one I have ever 
met," said Helen Gervaise. "Tell me her history, 
David." 

" I was present at her birth," said the doctor. 
" Her mother died a few weeks afterwards. I know 
not from whom !Xina inherited her beauty, for this 
mother, although a good, honest soul, was eminently 
ill-formed and featured, and the father, too, as you 
have seen, is rugged and homely ; but Nina, from 
babyhood, had that dark, rich loveliness which few 
behold without admiration and pity, and such beauty 
as hers, coupled with her misfortune, must needs 
excite more of the latter than of the former feeling. 
She was a wild little one, this Nina — a thorough 
imp of mischief, in her childhood. To school she 
could never be induced to go after her eighth year, 
she having at that period received a severe punish- 
ment, for some mad prank, from the master of the 
village seminary. Her father had not the slightest 
control over her, although her affection for him was 
boundless. What she says of herself is true — she 
can neither read nor write. Up to h'^r fourteenth 
year she lived the life of a young savage, roaming 
the fields and woods, climbing the tallest trees, 
swimming the creeks, riding without rein or sad- 
dle her father's horses, shooting birds and rabbits 
W'ith her little cross-bow, fishing for whole long 
summer days, dealing death and destruction to tad- 
poles, lizards and frogs — in fact, doing everything 
that mischief or fancy suggested, and doing noth- 
ing that was proper and little-girlish. This was Nina. 

" You will remember that six years ai,'o, wife and 
myself paid a visit of a month's duration to your 
father's. It was during our absence that the girl was 
stricken with pai-alysis. Never shall I fortret how she 
looked when first I saw her after the affliction had 
come upon her. Her face was like marble, her lips sec 
and rigid, and her eyes covered with a heavy film, 
such as the eyes of the blind often wear. Her father 
was wUh her ; he had her in his arms. He was weep, 
injr jiloud. It appeared that that day the eminea 



HELEN'S GOOD WORK. S33 

practitioner, Dr. L , whom Mr Adamson had stim- 

moned from the city, had pronounced the paralysis a 
complete and hopeless one. Without a word or sound 
Kina had heard this verdict pronounced, and when I 
saw her, an hour afterward, her father informed me, 
with streaming eyes, that she had not spoken, scarcely 
moved, since. 

"I saw at once that this unnatural strain upon the 
tension of the nerves would be injurious to the child, 
and that a free and passionate outburst of grief was 
of immediate necessity. 

" 'Nina,' said I, and my voice faltered at the seem- 
ing cruelty of the words, 'you will never need your 
cross-bow or fishing-rod again — suppose you give them 
to my little Harry.' 

"The effect I had intended was produced. Great, 
scalding tears gushed from her eyes, and weeping un- 
restrainedly, she cried out : 

'"0, God! kill me! kill me! I can't live in this 
way ! ' 

"My words had conjured up the remembrance of the 
free, wild life so dear to her, lost forever now. The 
little humming-bird's wing was broken, nor was she 
ever again to sip the sweets of the forest flowers." 

Dr. Thorne paused. His home was just in sight, 
and two of his rosy children bounded from the door- 
steps and ran towards him, and soon one of them was 
in his arms, and the other pulling impatiently at her 
aunt's dress. But Helen had no word or smile for her 
little niece, and the child, pouting at such unusual ne- 
glect, turned her attention to her father. 

Helen was in a thoughtful, almost sad, mood, and 
as she passed into the house, she inwardly resolved 
that, during her visit, she would devote as much time 
as possible to the young creature whose beauty had so 
chai-med, whose misfortune had so pained her. 

A new era had opened in the life of Nina Adamson, 
and in finding a friend and sister, she had also found 
a teacher of mind and heart. 

It was given to Helen to open the founts of knowl- 
edge to this wayward child, and to see a naturally 
brilliant intellect rapidly expanding under her gentle 
teachings ; but, while cultivating her mind, the 
darkened and rebellious soul claimed more earnest 
and prayerful effort. Herself a Christian in all save 
outward profession, she strove to arou.se in Nina a 
love and reverence for Him whom the girl had hitherto 
only murmured against as the author of her misery. 
This was at first a hard task. Nina had no innate 
yearning after the Divine, and, beyond the simple be- 



834 HELEN'S GOOD WORK. 

lief in the existence of a Deity, scarcely any knowledge 
of religion. Three times in her life she had been to 
church, so she told Helen, and each time her father 
had bribed her by the promise of a gift. 

"Yon see," she added, "I am almost a heathen, and 
it was never any use for the minister to come and see 
me, for I'd pay no attention to anything he'd say. 
And once I stopped him in the middle of a prayer by 
laughing, and telling him that I didn't believe in a 
Heaven or the other place. So, after a while, he gave 
lip coming, and then poor father used to read the Bible 
to me on Sundays, bat I always went to sleep, it was 
so dull." 

One less truly pious, less persevering in nature than 
Helen Gervase, would have despaired of ever leading 
this wanderer back to the Shepherd's fold ; but through 
much patience and prayer was this good woi-k finally 
accomplished, and Kina, with subdued and gentle 
spirit, worshipped humbly at the shrine from which 
she had hitherto turned rebelliously away. A Christ- 
ian, in the full acceptation of the term, she did not 
become. There were times when the old habits of 
querulousness and ill-temper returned, but these back- 
slidings were always followed by a repentance so pas- 
sionate and sincere, that Helen would smilingly com- 
pare them to the purifying storms of summer. 

The months passed away, and at last came the one 
which was to terminate the young teacher's lengthy 
visit. Nina's spirit began to flag perceptibly, and, 
when dawned the last day— the sorrowful day of part- 
ing—she had scarcely any words with which to reply 
to Helen's farewell — a still and profound grief bad 
taken possession of her. Passively she received the 
caresses of her friend, and as passively returned 
them. 

" 1 will write to you often, Nina ; and you will not 
neglect to answer my letters?" 

''"'No." 

"You will keep up your regular study hours, the 
same as if I were with you ? " 

"Yes, Helen." 

" And, Nina dear, you will not forget your evening 
and morning prayers— will not forget to ask God's 
help, whenever you feel the need of it?" 

"I will not forget anything that you have said, 
Helen." 
* * * * * * * 

A few months after Miss Gervase left the village of 

L , a raging epidemic swept away a third of its 

inhabitants ; nor did the surrounding fj>,rm-laad 



CATHARINE. 335 

escape the general iufection. Foremost among those 
outside the pale of the village, who numbered among 
the attacked, were Farmer Adamson and his daughter 
Nina. 

Far away, in her city home, Helen read the notices 
of their subsequent deaths. 

" Better thus," she said, quelling her sorrrow. " The 
father could not have lived without his darling, and it 
was her wish to die young. 

So speaking, she thought of this passage in one of 
Nina's letters ; nor was she self-righteous in rejoicing' 
in the belief that she had been the main instrument of 
the girl's salvation: 

"Somehow, Helen, I don't think I shall live very 
long. I never pray to God to let me die, now, as I 
used to ; but if I thought it were His will that I should 
die young, it would not make me sad, but very, very 
happy. You, dear friend, have taught me that, sinner 
as I am, yet, through penitence and prayer, I may hope 
for a place in His kingdom— a crown of the spotless 
lilies of Peace." 



CATHARINE. 

"All alone now in the cold world ! " And as Cath- 
arine Black uttered these desolate words in a discon- 
solate, heart-stricken tone, she turned sadly away 
from the bed upon which reposed the cold and lifeless 
remains of her gentle benefactress, with a dreary, in- 
tense aching at the heart. 

A slender-, queenly girl was Catharine Black — with 
eyes that had a wild and pleading look in their beautiful 
depths, and hair whose rich brown had an indescrib- 
able glimmer of gold as she stood there by the win- 
dow, with the genial morning sun shining brilliantly 
in upon her, illuminating those waving braids which 
were thrown carelessly back from her forehead, and 
confined in a silken net. 

For years she, an orphan, had been the protege of 
this noble woman, who was lying there so cold and 
silent in death ; and now, at the age of eighteen, she 
was suddenly bereft of her more than mother, and 
thrown again, penniless and alone, upon the heartless 
world. Bitter thought! as it crowded itself upon the 
young girl's mind, a heavy sigh escaped from her 
pallid lips, but as yet not a single tear came to dim 
the bright lustre of her eye, or give relief to the sor- 
rowing heart. 



660 CATHARINE. 

"0 my God, the trial is too great ; the burden is far 
heavier than I can bear!" and the slender form bent 
low over the lifeless woman, with agony written in 
every lineament of her marble face, lo take one long, 
last look at the kind face before they should place her 
in the cofiin, never more to be seen by mortal eye until 
the lid should be burst asunder at the Judgment seat, 
when they should meet face to face, neyer again to 
part. 

The long, lingering look was taken at last ; the life- 
less form was laid gently in the coffin ; then the lid 
was screwed down that shut ilie white face forever 
from mortal sight. Silently, fearlessly, Cafharine wit- 
nessed the lasc tribute paid to the dead body ; pas- 
sively she allowed them to array her in her mourning 
habiliments; and then everything passed as in a 
dream. She remembered no more until she stood by 
the newly-made grave, saw the coffin lowered to its 
last resting place, heard the minister repeat in a low, 
solemn tone the words, " Dust to dust, ashes to ashes," 
&c., and then, for the fii'st time in her life, she fainted 
entirely away. When she awoke to consciousness, 
the kind, pitying face she had heretofore been accus- 
tomed to behold bending solicitously over her in time 
of sickness or trouble, was now no longer visible, and 
Catharine knew that henceforth she must tread life's 
thorny path alone, with no tender, guiding hand held 
lovingly out to help her, and she began to realize for 
the first time how utterly friendless and desolate she 
was. 

Her benefactress, Mrs. Gray, had died very sud- 
denly and unexpectedly ; and, leaving no will, the 
whole of her vast possessions, without the slightest 
reserve whatever, went into the hands of her only rel- 
ative, her sister, Mrs. Ardell— an exceedingly vain 
and arrogant woman, who arrived ei'e long, with her 
retinue of well-trained attendants, instantly installing 
herself as mistress of the elegant mansion, and treat- 
ing her sister's ^roiegre so coldly, and uttering so many 
insinuating remarks in her presence about dependents 
in general, that Catharine's proud spirit could brook it 
no longer, and she immediately hadan advertisement 
inserted in the " Times," for the purpose of obtaining 
a situation, either as a governness or sewing girl, in 
some private family; and oh! none but those who 
have been placed in just such a trying situation as 
Catharine was can imagine how anxiously and impa- 
tiently she waited for the day to arrive that would 
bring her an answer to her advertisement. 

One morning, about a month after her benefactress' 



CATHARINE. 837 

death, Catharine was sitting in her room, hlisying 
herself with some embroidery which she held in her 
hand, when a rap at the door aroused her from the 
painful reverie that she had fallen into, and banished 
all her sad thoughts far away. Hastily rising, she 
laid her work upon the table and opened the door. 

"There's a lady in the sitting-roSra, waiting to see 
yoti, miss," black Elleu, the servant girl, who stood 
there, said respectfully, at the same time handing 
Catharine a card. 

"A lady — and to see me! who can it be?" Catharine 
murmured. And then remembering the advertise- 
ment she had inserted in the paper, slie glanced at the 
card and saw engraved thereon, " Mrs. Kichard Law- 
rence." 

"Very well, Ellen; tell the lady I will be down 
presently," said she to the girl, who still lingered ac 
the door. 

Entering her room, Catharine donned a white apron 
over her simple black dress, tlien smoothing back the 
waving bands of hair, she went down stairs. But 
when her hand came in contact with the sitting-room 
door, she drew it back, trembling slightly ; for it was 
very galling to this young girl to know that she, who 
for the past eight years had been bred in luxury, 
would now have to earn her daily bread ; but men- 
tally styling herself a coward, and smothering her 
false pride, she entei-ed. 

A lady, over whom five and twenty years had 
scarcely flown — white and fair as a lily— scood in the 
centre of the room, one white hand resting carelessly 
against a marble shaft, the other grasping a photo- 
tographic album, at which she appeared to be gazing 
intently when Catharine entered. Indeed, so absorbed 
was the lady in its contents, that she saw not at first 
the fair young girl who came into the room, and stood 
with one tiny slippered foot impatiently tapping the 
carpeted floor, and so Catharine had time tq observe 
her closely. She disliked her at once ; why, she could 
not tell. It was not so much the cold, fierce glitter of 
the brilliant blue eye. as it was the stern, repellant 
look around the beautiful mouth. Involuntarily she 
started forward, when, in so doing, her robe coming 
in contact with the lady's, caused her to shrink back, 
dropping the album with a slight shriek ; and then, 
not waiting to pick it up, she said hastily; 

"You are Miss Black, are you not?" 

"I am," Catharine answered, rather haughtily, for 
she recognized at once something antagonistic with 
the fair lady of the " golden curls aud listless jnan- 

22 



ass CATHARINE. 

"And I am Mrs. Lawrence, as you are no doubt al- 
ready aware," and the lady glanced at the card which 
Catharine still held in her hand. 

A cold bow from Catharine, and the lady continued : 

"I saw by the advertisement which you inserted in 
tte paper, that you were both ready and willing to 
accept a situation either as governness or sewing girl 
in some i^rivate family." 

Another buw, if possible colder and haughtier still 
than the first, and again the lady proceeded : 

" Now, Miss Black, I do not want you for a govern- 
ness, for I have already procured the services of a 
lady whom I consider in every way competent to in- 
struct my little daughter, Jalia ; and if I wanted 
one" — here the lady's cold, brilliant blue eye was 
fastened with a keen, penetrating glance upon Cath- 
arine's queenly form — "I should never engage your 
services, JVIiss Black, for you are both too striking 
and graceful altogether to come into daily contact 
with my very handsome and talented brother, Arthur 
Lynne." 

Catharine drew her superb form up to its queenliest 
height, and was about to ask of the Is.dy, defiantly, 
what she meant, when she, with an imperious wave 
of her snowy, jewelled hand, motioned her to be still. 

"I know veiy well what you were about to say. 
But it is not your beauty that I fear, for that alone 
would never attract my brother ; but by your bearing 
I am well assured that you are a lady of accomplish- 
ments, and — " 

"I pray you come to the point, and tell me what 
all this tends to," here indignantly broke ia Cath- 
arine. 

"Yes, yes. Miss Black, I am coming to the point in- 
stantly if you will only curb your rebellious temper. 
I am in need of of a sewing girl, and I came here this 
moi-ning for the purpose of offering you the situation. 
Will you accept it?" 

"Never!" 

And Catharine's foot came firmly down upon the floor, 
while an indignant rush of crimson swept over the 
pale cheeks, and mounted even to her high, fair brow. 
Then the remembrance of that selfish, arrogant woman 
upon whom she was so entirely dependent caused 
Catharine to reconsider her decision a moment, and 
turning to the lady, who was gracefully waiting the 
denouement, she said, in a tone that slightly quivered 
with its intensity, spite of herself: 

" I accept the situation, madam." 

" You do ? I am very glad to hear it. I should like 



CATHARINE. 339 

to have you enter upon your services as sewing-girl in 
the morning. Can you be ready, Miss Black?" 

"I csin, Mrs. Lawrence." 

*' Very well, I shall expect you." 

The lady gathered up her silken rohes as if ready 
for departure; but perceiving the album still lying 
upon the floor, she stooped down, picked it up, and 
turning the leaves until she came to the likeness of a 
tall, rather majestic-looking man, she handed it to 
Catharine, saying carelessly: 

" Are you acquainted with the original. Miss 
Black?" 

•'No, I'm not," Catharine answered, rather coldly. 

"You, perhaps, have heard of him?" 

'' I have, madam. He was an intimate friend of the 
late Mrs. Gray, who esteemed him very highly ; and 
his name is, I believe, Sir Eoger Markham. Do you 
know him ?" 

" Oh, yes! that is to say I'm very slightly acquainted 
with him. His residence is only a mile distant from 
my own home, and I see him very often, although for 
the past year or two he has been travelling in distant 
lands ; but he has now returned, and I sincerely trust 
that he will render his stay here permanent." 

Looking at the lady's face as she again glanced at 
the picture Catharine was surprised to see it overcast 
with a tender light, and she was convinced that it 
meant more than the words "mere friendship" would 
signify. 

For a moment or so longer the lady continued to look 
at the photograph, and then with a graceful courtesy, 
which was acknowledged by a cold nod from Catha- 
rine, she took her departure. But ever and anon, as 
she slowly descended the marble steps, she vowed that 
she would yet break the will of that haughty girl, and 
that she should rue the dav that she ever entered her 
family as a sewing-girl. Ah ! she had little read Catha- 
rine aright, if she deemed it possible that she could be 
in the least " put down." 

Catharine watched the fluttering robe of the lady 
until it had vanished from her siglit, and then, with a 
bitter smile on her face, she went immediately to the 
parlor, and up to the sofa whereon reclined a faded, 
rather showily-dressed woman ot perhaps five and 
forty years of age, saying coldly: 

" I have accepted the situatiun of a sewing-girl in 
the family of Mrs. Lawrence." 

" Have you?" Mrs. Ardell glanced up as she asked 
the question, and there was a vein of surprise just 
visible iu her tone ; then she went on hurriedly: "I 



840 CATHARINE. 

am very glad, Miss Black, to know that you possess 
such an independent spirit. Bat remember, Catharine, 
you are welcome to remain here as long as you wish." 

"I haren'tthe least doubt of it, madam," Catharine 
answered, so bitterly that the lady bit her lip angrily ; 
but, knowing of old how useless it was to wage words 
with the girl, she remained silent, while Catharine 
swept haughtily from the room. 

Going immediately to her own splendidly furnished 
apartment, Catharine gathered together her effects, and 
after passing a very lonely afternoon and night, she 
found herself the next morning, about ten o'clock, 
domiciled as seamstress in the house of Mrs. Lawrence. 

Oh, those intensely dreary and painful days which 
followed ! Treated at times almost insultingly by Mrs. 
Lawrence, and tormented half to death by her hateful 
daughter, Julia, it is no wonder that Catharine would 
fain have lain down by the side of the green grave be- 
neath the weeping willow, where reposed the beloved 
remains of her idolized benefactress. 

She had been at Mrs. Lawrence's about two weeks, 
when one morning, tired of remaining forever in the 
house, she took her work and seated herself beneath 
the dark, intricate branches of a towering oak, upon 
the topmost bough of which a robin was pouring forth 
its daily matin of praise. For a few moments the 
young girl sat listening to the beautiful warbler, and 
then her thoughts reverted to the past. Aroused from 
her reverie at length by hearing footsteps in the dis- 
tance, she glanced up, and as she did so, beheld Mrs. 
Lawrence emerging from behind the bright green 
shrubbery that dotted the edge of the walk on either 
hand, and by her side, of tall, commanding figure, was 
a gentleman whom Catharine instinctively recognized 
as Sir Roger Markham. 

They were walking leisurely along, the gentleman 
evei-y now and then looking admiringly down upon 
his fair companion, who, by the way, was looking 
very lovely in her fluttering robe of white, with rib- 
bons of blue knotting back her fair hair, which fell 
in clustering ringlets over neck and shoulders. Never 
had she appeared more charming ; and even Catharine, 
who perfectly detested her employer, could not but ac- 
knowledge that she was very pretty. But a moment 
after she averted her head, as that lady looked up co- 
quettishly in the gentleman's face, presenting him at 
the same time with a rosebud which she had gathered 
from one of the surrounding bushes ; and then they 
came still nearer to where she was sitting. 

Catharine partly arose as if she would haye entered 



CATHARINE. 341 

tlie hoase ; but, after a moment's hesitation, she seated 
herself again, and was seemingly intent upon her sew- 
ing, when an exclamation from Sir Ruger caused her 
to look up and see what had befallen him. She saw 
him stooping down to pick up the rosebud that had 
fallen to his feet. As ho arose his eyes fell upon the 
queenly form of the seamstress, and he stood for a mo- 
ment irresolute, looking first at her and then at Mrs. 
Lawrence, who stood beating the ground impatiently 
with her foot, while a dark shadow swept athwart her 
childish face. She knew that Sir Roger was bent on 
haying an introduction to her fair seamstress, and she 
did not care to have him become acquainted with so 
very talented and graceful a girl as Catharine ; but, 
aware of how much he had always dwelt upon a name 
and place ia society, she stepped up to Catharine with 
a bland smile, saying pleasantly: 

" Catharine, dear, permit me. Sir Roger Markham, 
allow me to make you acquainted with ray sewing 
girl, Miss Black!" 

Sir Roger bowed profoundly ; but Catharine did not 
raise her head in the least, although for a single in- 
stant an angry rush of crimson mantled her fair 
cheeks, and her eyes flashed ominously ; the next, 
every particle of color had receded, leaving a face cold 
and marble-like in its rigidity; then slowly raising 
her soft dark eyes she let them rest for a moment coldly, 
haughtily, upon the gentleman's face, then dropped 
them again upon her work, and went grimly on with 
her sewing. 

Mrs. Lawrence bit her lip ang^rily, and then asked 
in an impertinent tone : 

"Did yoa hear what I said, Miss Black?" 

"I did, madam." 

"Why, then, have you not acknowledged the intro- 
duction?" 

" Because, madam" — and Catharine's eyes grew 
darker than midnight as she replied to the lady's 
question" — I do not care to form the acquaintance of 
Sir Roger Markham." 

Mrs. Lawrence forgot for the moment to be ladylike, 
and her voice rose an octave higher than usual; but 
what she would have said or doue cannot be told, for 
at that moment little Julia, who had been standing on 
the piazza leaning against a marble column, lost her 
footing and fell heavily to the ground, her cries of 
pain brought her mother instantly to her side. 

Catharine lausfbed a low, malicious little laugh as 
Mrs. Lawrence entered the house, bearing her scream- 
ing struggling little daughter in her arms. Sir Roger 



843 CATHAEINE. 

looked up, and was about turning away in disgust, 
when, for the first time noticing the young girl's re- 
marlcable beauty, he held out his hand, saying pleas- 
antly : 

"I sincerely trust, Miss Black, that for the sake of 
Mrs. Gray we may still become friends." 

Catharine did not take the hand lield out to her so 
kindly, but in a tone in which both tenderness and 
bitterness were mingled, said : 

" For the sake of dear Mrs. Gray I would be willing 
to do anything. I would even try and forgive Mrs. 
Lawrence that intended insult." 

" And which I should certainly not pronounce a very 
difficult matter — the forgiving of so fair and lovely a 
lady as Mrs. Lawrence." 

Catharine made no reply ; she could scarcely repress 
the cry of anger that rose to her white lips. 

Mrs. Lawrence now came out upon the piazza, lead- 
ing the little girl by the hand ; and as she stood there 
for a moment with the sun shining brilliantly down 
upon her face of dazzling whiteness, she looked very 
lovely ; and Sir Roger viewed her with admiring eyes. 

" Only look, Miss Black ; isn't she lovely ? Do you 
know I don't think I ever saw a lady before so lovely 
both in character and person as Mrs. Lawrence. Did 
you?" 

"I can scarcely tell, sir. I so perfectly detest the 
lady in question, that if called upon to give my candid 
opinion 1 am afraid it would scarely coincide with that 
given by you." 

" Ah, indeed!" Sir Roger looked at her curiously. 
He was beginning to take a decided interest in piquing 
that young girl, and watching her dark eyes flash 
until her whole face seemed to be lighted up. After 
watching her a moment or so, he said : 

"You certainly are very truthful. Miss Black, but 
I'm afraid scarcely any one would agi-ee with you in 
your opinion formed of Mrs. Lawrence" 

"Probably not, sir. I was not aware I had been 
setting myself up as a criterion for other people to go 
by!" And Catharine began to hastily gather up her 
work. 

Sir Roger did not heed her ; he was looking vacantly 
on the ground. 

"By the way. Miss Black," he said, glancing sud- 
denly up at Catharine, ' ' are you aware that MrsT Law- 
rence is expecting her brother home ere long? I think 
she told me he would be here this week. Beware of 
him, for he is very handsome." 

Catharine arose insolently beautiful. 



CATHARINE. 343 

" I do not care, sir, about discussing Mrs. Law- 
rence's family matters further with a mere stranger ! 
you'll pray excuse me. Besides, sir, I'd have "you 
uuderstaud that I am perfectly capable of attending 
to my own affairs. You will please remember that in 
future." And with a slight, haughty inclination of 
her queenly head, Catharine sailed imperiously past 
him and entered the house. 

Sir Eoger gazed after her retreating form with a 
look in which astonishment and admiration were 
strangely blended. For the first time in his life he 
had been treated coldly, nay, almost scornfully, by 
a young girl, and she — he repeated the words over to 
himself bitterly — "nothing but a seamstress." 

"By Jove!" he muttered; "can it be that this 
young girl is nothing but a seamstress? she who 
outrivals in person all the titled court beauties I have 
ever been presented to ? It seems incredible. Heav- 
ens! how majestically she swept past me ; and what 
a look of superb scorn there was on her face when she 
vowed that she was ' able to take care of her own 
affairs.' Well, I'm determined to see more of her in 
the future." And with this thought uppermost in his 
mind, he was turning slowly awdy, when a hand was 
laid tenderly on his arm, and a low, soft voice said: 

"Come, come. Sir Koger, do not stand there any 
longer meditating upon Miss Black. A very beautiful 
and high-bred girl, I admit, but. nevertheless, her re- 
bellious temper will certainly be her ruin. But come 
— don't ponder any longer upon my senmstj-ess, but 
let me show you my bed of scarlet verbenas." And 
Mrs. Lawrence led the way to a bed beautifully laid 
out, and filled with a profusion of scarlet flowers. 

Meanwhile, Catharine had entered her room, and 
taking her sewing seated herself by the window ; but 
her thoughts were not upon the work before her. Oh, 
no. A great hatred was surging up in her heart 
against Mrs. Lawrence and Sir Enger. 

" How dare she offer me that insult !" she thought. 
" And how dare he tell me to beware of Arthur Lynne? 
Because I am a penniless orphan, and a seamstress, 
am I thus to be offered insult upon insult ? And for- 
getting herself in her excitement, Catharine arose, 
and with flushed cheeks and clinched hands paced the 
floor to and fro like some beautiful mad animal. 

Growing calmer at last, she seated herself again and 
went on with her sewing. And there she sat hour 
after hour, until the sun sank at last beneath a sea of 
golden splendor behind the western hills. Then, and 
not till then, did she lay aside her work. 



344 CATHARINE. 

When Cafharine arose the next morning, after hav- 
ing pitased a night of restlessness, she had a vague 
feeling of consciousness of having been haunted in 
her dreams tlie night before by a proud, handsome 
face, the lips wreathed in a sarcastic smile ; and she 
knew that that face and smile belonged to none other 
than Sir Roger Mai-kham. 

Heartily hating herself for thinking of him in the 
least, Catharine hastily arrayed herself in her plainest 
calico dress; then throwing a gingham sunbonnet 
over her head — which partially if noD wholly con- 
cealed her beautiful face— cast another glance in the 
glass at her hasty toilet, preparatory to taking her 
morning walk, which was her daily custom before 
commencing the tedious sewing of the day. 

It was with a feeling of pleasure that she found her- 
self seated at last on a mossy bank, beneath whose 
shadow a small stream of clear, glistening water 
glided merrily along, and which afcer many a bend 
and crook, emptied itself at length in a subterraneous 
passage, where it was entirely lost to view. A great 
lover of nature, Catharine sat for some time drinking 
in the wild beauty of the scenery about her ; finally 
she began to amuse herself by throwing pebbles into 
the brook, laughing merrily as the water dashed up 
in its silvery spi'ay, and fell in glistening drops down 
upon her dress. Growing tired of this sport at last, 
for want of something else to do, she bent down 
over the water and began to gaze at the beautiful face 
reflected therein; and so absorbed was she in watch- 
ing the play of her own countenance that she heard 
not the heavy footstep behind her, neither was she 
conscious of another's presence until a pleasant 
" Good-morning, Miss Black," fell upon her ears. 

She turned hastily around, but perceiving who the 
intruder was, regained her composure almost in- 
stantly ; and returning the brief salutation coldly, 
turned her head again and began her old occupation 
— that of gazing on her own face in the water. 

Not heeding the studied coldness of the young girl's 
manner. Sir Koger thew himself down by her side, 
trying to catch a glance at the averted face, which 
was rendered utterly impossible by that odious sun- 
bonnet. After repeated ineffectual attempts to look 
beneath her bonnet, he said, — 

"You seem to be sitcing in a sort of trance. Miss 
Black, gazing at the reflection of your own face. Do 
you consider yourself so very beautiful?" 

Catharine turned her head now. Oh, the ineffable 
scorn that wreathed her beautiful lips and flashed 
from her dark eyes as she angrily exclaimed, — 



CATHARINE. 345 

"It is certainly none of your business, sir, and 1 
must say that I consider you insufferably impertinent; 
but" — and the slender form was Jilted proudly — "to 
answer your question truthfully, I do consider myself 
Mrs. Lawrence's superior in beauty as well as in every 
other respect." 

Catharine knew — or at least imagined — that Sir 
Roger had formed the idea that she was an exceedingly 
Yain and frivolous girl, and she wished to confirm 
him in his not very exalted opinion of her ; but per- 
ceiving the amused smile with which he regarded her, 
she felt assured that he had seen through the ruse, 
and rising angrily she was about to depart, when with. 
a slight motion of the hand Sir Roger detained her. 

"No, no. Miss Black, I beg of you not to go. You 
came here, no doubt, for the same purpose as myself 
— that of enjoying the beautiful scenery; therefore, I 
pray you, be seated; and, as my society is so very 
distasteful to your majesty, I will relieve you of my 
hated presence." And Sir Roger was striding away 
when, by this time somewhat ashamed of the hasty 
exhibition of temper with which she had favored him, 
Catharine detained him, saying, — 

" I beg your pardon, Sir Roger, you'll do no such 
thing, i'ray remain ; and, as it is getting late, I must 
return to the house and begin my sewing." 

But Sir Roger would not hear to this. 

"Unless you consent to stay too, Miss Black, much 
as I should prefer to remain here and enjoy this 
beautiful scenery, I cannot, well knowing that I have 
driven you away." 

Catharine hesitated a moment, then seated herself 
upon the mossy bank again; while Sir Roger, nothing 
loth, threw himself down by her side, beginning in 
his own gay, sprightly way to converse, until Catha- 
rine became fairly charmed, and joined heartily with 
him in the conversation. Possessing rare, brilliant 
conversational powers, she exerted herself to be 
agreeable ; and so well did she succeed that her com- 
panion could scarcely bring himself to believe that 
this beautiful, fascinating girl, who conversed so 
charmingly, was the same cold, scornful one of the 
day before. How could she sit there so quietly, so 
self-possessed, with that detestible sunbonuet crown- 
ing her head? For the first time in his life Sir Roger 
confessed that he had met with a young girl perfectly 
natural, and who cared neither for his rank nor his 
fortune. 

The conversation turning to watering places pres- 
ently, Sir Roger said,— 



846 CATHARraE. 

''By the way, Miss Black, Mrs. Lawrence is in- 
tendiag, I believe, as soon as her brother arrives, to 
make up a party for the purpose of visiting Niagara, 
and from thence I think she intends to go to Sharon — 
a place rendered very famous lately by the medicinal 
virtues of its waters, and of late years quite a resort 
for fashionable people. Wei-e you ever at either of the 
places?" 

A scarcely perceptible smile played around Cath- 
arine's lips, as she replied, — 

"Oh, yes, to the former place many times ; but to the 
latter, never ; although I have always had a great 
desire to visit Sharon. Had Mrs. Gray lived we were 
to have spent a month there this summer." 

As Catharine's thoughts flew back to her benefac- 
tress' death the tears gathered in her eyes, making 
her look inexpressibly lovely. 

Not appearing to notice the maiden's embarrass- 
ment, for she had turned her head — Sir Roger went 
on, — 

"I have never been at Sharon, either, and for that 
reason I purpose going there myself, this summer. I 
have heard the scenery around Sharon described as 
being perfectly beautiful." 

" Yes, indeed!" exclaimed Catharine, warming up 
with the subject, "Colonel Leighton, a friend of 
mine, in describing Sharon to me, stated that it was a 
very pleasant village situated in a lovely valley, on 
either side of which towered aloft gigantic hills, and 
rendered grandly beautiful by the wild and pictur- 
esque scenery for which the place is noted. Oh! I 
should like to go to Sharon." 

But Sir Koger did not heed the latter part of the 
sentence. All his thoughts dwelt with a fearful in- 
tensity upon the name just uttered by Catharine — 
Colonel Leighton. He remembered him to be the 
handsomest, most fascinating man he had ever met, 
besides possessing an immense fortune. Surely he 
was the man of all others to whom he should think a 
girl like Catharine would surrender her heart captive. 
But perhaps he might have been mistaken in the 
name ; and turning to Catharine he said, — 

"Did I understand you to say Colonel Leighton?" 

' You did, sir." 

Catharine looked up wonderingly. 

" A tall, eminently handsome man, with very light 
complexion, and a fortune so vast as to give one the 
idea of its being almost fabulous?" 

" The same, sir. Are you acquainted with him ?" 

"I have met him, but do not know him," was th^ 



CATHARINE. 347 

reply, uttered somewhat coldly ; for Sir Eoger, al- 
though, he knew not for what reason, was very jealous 
of this handsome colonel. 

Catharine would have liked to question him con- 
cerning her friend, but thinking the questions might 
annoy him, she adroitly turned the conversation. At 
last, seeing how far the sun was in the heavens, she 
arose, saying she must surely go now. Sir Roger ac- 
companied her to the house, and then with a low bow 
he ] ?tt her, thinking to himself that this girl with her 
wondrous beauty and many accomplishments woiild 
be a prize even for a king ; and wondering if she were 
not already won by that " devil of a colonel!" 



CHAPTEE II. 

"Oh, dear! here it is nine o'clock, and at half- 
past one I have to start, and my dress not finished yet ! 
When will you have it done?" And Mrs. Lawrence 
turned abruptly round to Catharine, who was sitting 
quietly by the window, busying herself with trim- 
ming elaborately and fashionably the costly robe 
which lay upon her lap. 

"I have just finished it, madam," Catharine an- 
swered lightly, handing Mrs. Lawrence the dress ; and 
while she examined it closely, she went on complain- 
ingly— 

" It does seem as if everything went wrong with me 
this morning. Only think ! Arthur and Miss Grey- 
son not arrived yet, and no signs of their coming ; 
and now, to cap the climax, Sir Roger must needs send 
word that it is utterly impossible for him to join my 
party for a week or so yet. But, I declare, I shall not 
be kept home for that — I will go!" And Mrs. Law- 
rence's mouth took on a decided pout, and her pretty 
face became terribly elongated as she enumerated her 
many troubles. 

At last, after great patience exhibited on Catharine's 
part, Mrs. Lawreuce was got ready, and the whole 
household felt not a little relieved as that extremely 
lively and very petulent little lady took her departure in 
the daily stage : and quiet reigned supreme once more. 

For some time after Mrs. Lawrence's exodus, Catha- 
rine diligently applied herself to her sewing ; and then 
growing intensely weary from ovei'-exertion, she laid 
aside her work and descended to the parlor, followed 
—although she knew it not— by little Jiilia, who crept 
stealthily behind her, ensconsing herself beneath the 
heavy curtains that shaded the windows, just as 



348 CATHARINE. 

Catharine — not able to withstand the temptation — 
seated herself by the piano and began to play. And 
as her white hands swept over the ivory keys, bringing 
forth low and solemn music, reminding her so pain- 
fully of her benefac:ress' death, a feeling of loneli- 
ness, of such utter desolation, came over her, that, 
bowing her head upon her hands, she wept. 

After a few moments given up to the painful past, 
Catharine proceeded to play. Low and sad it seemed 
at first, then, gaining power, her voicr; surged through 
the lofty apartment like a shout of triumph, auon 
falling lower and lower, until it almost resembled a 
wail in its deep and solemn sadness; and causing the 
young man who liad alighted from the stage only a 
moment ago, to hold his very breath and listen as that 
magnificent voice once more wafted softly upon the 
breeze. 

Who could it be? In vain he asked the question, as 
tired and dusty he wended his way up the gravelled 
walk that led to his sister's beautiful mansion ; finally 
surmising it to be the wealthy Miss Grayson, of whom 
he had often heard his sister speak as "a splendid 
girl, Arthur; in fact, the only woman that I Would 
ever be willing for you to call by the name of wife." 
And these words rose vividly to his remembrance on 
that bright, lovely June morning, as he stood, prepara- 
tory to mounting the marble steps, brushing off an 
imaginary speck of dust that had settled ou his coat 
collar ; and then, without waiting to ring the bell, he 
opened the door and went in, and there he stood, trans- 
fixed at the beautiful sight which met his view. 

The parlor doors were thrown open, and Arthur 
Lynne could distinctly seea fair, lovely girl upon whom 
his eye was instantly rivetted. Surely, he thought, 
such a bright, beautiful being he had never seen be- 
fore. And, truly, nothing could present a more strik- 
ing picture than Catharine, as she sat there with her 
queenly form draped in black, and a single cluster of 
scarlet "geraniums attached to the white "ruffle at her 
throat. 

Wholly unconscious of the admiring brown eye.s 
rivetted upon her from the doorway, or the scrutiniz- 
ing black ones cast upon her from behind the curtain, 
Catharine played on and on, never heeding in the bast 
little Julia, who, growing weary of watching the fair 
songstress, crept stealthily, noiselessly across the 
carpeted floor, until, coming direcily behind Catharine, 
she inflicted a sharp, savage pinch upon her arm. The 
player started hastily up, a slight scream issuing from 
her lips ; but perceiving who the ofiender was, with- 



CATHARINE. 349 

out a moment's hesitation raised her white hand aloft, 
bringing it down with all the force she wais capable of 
on the child's shoulder. 

In falling, little Julia's head hit against the edge of 
a chair, cutting a slight gash above the temple, from 
which the blood instantly welled forth, staining with 
its dark, crimson drops the white purity of her dress. 
In an instant the fierce, passionate look which shone so 
brightly only a moment before in Cathari; e's eyes had 
fled, and with a face ghastly, deathly pale she bent 
over the prostrate form, trying to bring back some life 
into those still, cold limbs ; but all her efforts seemed 
in vain. 

"0 my God, what have I done!" she wailed with 
passionate earnestness. And falling down upon her 
knees, with clasped hands she raised her tearful eyes 
aloft, beseeching Him whose guardian eye watches so 
carefully over us all, to bring little Julia back to life, 
and not make her guilty of that most heinous of 
crimes, murder! 

" Oh Heaven, have mercy — have mercy !" 

A slight motion on her part caused the comb which 
confined her hair to become loosened, and it fell in all 
its rich, glittering beauty unbound about her. Like 
some rare, beautiful picture of a saintly priestess of 
old, or some fair Madonna, looked staiely Catha- 
rine as she knelt there in the middle of the room 
over little Julia, with the sun falling in glorious 
waves of light down upon her bowed head, until 
"golden lights, like fiery shadows" seemed to dart 
through her hair, as it fell in rich, glistening tresses 
of brown over and adown her queenly form, covering 
her as with a veil. 

Arthur Lynne still stood rivetted to the spot where he 
first beheld Catharine. Three separate times had he 
started forward with the intention of assuring Catha- 
rine that his niece lay in a swoon from which she 
would eventually recover, but each time there was 
something in that bright, bewildering face, framed in 
tresses of brown, that rendered him utterly incapable 
of moving. But now, witnessing the evident distress 
exhibited by the maiden, he stepped softly in, and 
going close up to Catharine, who was wholly uncon- 
scious of his presence, he said : 

"I pray you, pardon me, lady, for intruding upon 
you in so unceremonious a manner, but I interrupted 
you for the purpose of assuring you that my niece is 
only in a swoon, from which she will soon recover. 
Do you not see that she has only fainted ? " 

Catharine looked beseechingly up, never wondering 



350 CATHARINE. 

in the least how this handsome young man came to \i» 
there so suddenly ; and all her thoughts were concen- 
trated with a world of intensity upon the child before 
her, and with clasped hands she wailed out implor- 
ingly: 

"0, sir, are you sure that she will live?" And 
with deep thankfulness she listened to the low-toned 
reply : 

"Certainly. I answered you truthfully when I told 
you that my niece had only fainted. See, she is even 
now recovering." And Mrs. Lawrence's handsome 
brother knelt over the unconscious form of his niece 
as he spoke, wiping away the crimson drops from the 
pale brow. 

Catharine was about to pour out her thanks for this 
blessed assurance, when the rustling of the drapery 
near the bow window attracted her attention, and 
glancing up, she saw the tall, princely form of Sir 
Roger emerging slowly forth. With her stately 
form drawn proudly erect, she scornfully confronted 
him. 

" You certainly must have had an exceedingly in- 
teresting time. Sir Roger, peering at me from behind 
the curtain, witnessing my every movement. I 
scarcely thought a gentleman in your station of life 
would condes^cend to commit so mean an act as that of 
an eavesdropper." 

A world of intense, bitter scorn dwelt in every syl- 
lable of the young girl's haughty tone ; but Sir Ro- 
ger's face never varied in the least from its usual cold 
impassiveness, as he answered, in the most sarcastic 
manner imaginable : 

"Yes, queenly Catharine, believe me when I say 
that never before in my whole life was I so intensely 
interested. But you wrong me with your insinuating 
remarks. Did you imagine for a moment. Miss Black, 
that I could intentionally stoop to become a listener"? 
Never, girl, never! Listen," he went on, ironically, 
♦' while I attempt to explain to you my annoying 
presence here this morning. I came here with no 
other purpose than that of calling upon your royal 
self ; but being informed that you were otherwise en- 
gaged, I awaited your appearancein the library ; and 
being obliged to remain some length of time, I was 
just going off into a sort of reverie, when I was sud- 
denly awakened by the sound of your magniflceot 
voice. I trust my explanation is wholly satisfac- 
tory." And Sir Rodger looked at Catharine as he 
spoke. 

Catharine knew that he had spoken the truth, and 



CATHARINE. 351 

yet, she could not so easily forgive Mm for -witnessing 
that very unladylike act of hers ; and somewhat tartly 
she informed him that she didn't doubt his veracity in 
the least, but henceforth it would be more agreeable 
to her if he would immediately make his presence 
known. 

With a bow that was almost ironical in its proud 
humility, Sir Roger assured Miss Black that he 
would do so in future, adding : 

" However, had I done so this afternoon, I should 
never have been a witness to those pretty theatrical 
ways of yours, so well befitting a tragedy queen, and 
which you certainly displayed with almost marvel- 
lous skill and effect." 

Catharine's face, which had been very pale before, 
now flushed with a burning heat, and with rage in 
her main, and fire flashing from her eye, she turned 
upon him. 

" How dai-e you, I say, assert that which you know 
to be false?" And she glared at him fiercely. "A 
tragedy queen, indeed!" 

But Sir Roger's tone was as calm and cold even as 
usual, as he said in answer to her question : 

'* I scarcely think, Miss Black, that anything I have 
asserted in regard to yourself is false. Surely you 
were never in earnest when you inflicted that heavy 
blow on the shoulder of yonder fallen child?" And 
Sir Roger motioned to little Julia as he spoke. 

"Yes, indeed," chimed in Catharine, angrily, "I 
was never more in earnest in my life ; and had it been 
the daughter of her majesty, the Queen of England, 
instead of Mrs. Lawrence's child, I should have done 
no different ; and yet — " 

She broke off abruptly, for, her glance falling acci- 
dentally upon little Julia, she saw unmistakable signs 
of returning life; and turning to Ai-thur, who was 
listening amazedly to the sarcastic cutting exhibited 
on both sides, she said: 

"You will extremely oblige me, sir, if you will 
carry little Julia out into the open air, I am certain 
she'll recover more quickly." 

"Certainly." 

Arthur lifted the slight form of his niece in his arms 
as he spoke, and proceeded to carry her out of the 
room, followed by Catharine and Sir Roger ; the lat- 
ter feeling his bitter pangs of jealously increasing ten- 
fold as he remarked the grateful, admiring looks cast 
upon the slender youth by Catharine, who went di- 
rectly ahead of him, her hair streaming about her by 
the wind. 



353 CATHARINE. 

Arthur had no sooner deposited the form of Tittle 
Julia upon the lawn, underneath a noble old elm, 
when the attention of the party was attracted by the 
stage stopping in front of the gate ; and great was 
their astonishment upon beholding Mrs. Lawrence 
alight, followed instantly by a sparkling, dashing 
brunette, whose very stylish appearance exactly tal- 
lied with Mrs. Lawrence's minute description, given a 
few days ago to Catharine, of her most intimate friend, 
Miss Grayson, the heiress. 

With a single wave of her white, unjewelled hand, 
Catharine gathered together the shimmering tresses of 
burnished gold, and bound them in a knot behind, j ust 
as Sir Koger went forth to meet Mrs. Lawrence, who, 
in answer to the gentleman's look of amazement, said; 

"You, doubtless, are greatly surprised upon seeing 
me return the same day ; but, fortunately, meeting 
Miss Grayson at the depot, and being informed that 
my brother had also arrived, I made up my mind to 
postpone my visit to Niagara this summer, and only 
visit Sharon. But pray, what Ls the matter?" she 
asked, noticing for the first time the group under the 
elm 

As briefly as possible, Sir Roger explained to Mrs. 
Lawrence that a slight accident had befallen her 
daughter. 

" Nothing serious, however," he hastened to add, as 
he saw the terror exhibited on Mrs. Lawrence's coun- 
tenance. And he led the way to the unwonted sight 
under the elm. 

For a moment Mrs. Lawrence surveyed the scene, 
her blue eye taking in everything at once ; then turn- 
ing to Catharine, she said: 

"May I ask the cause of all this disturbance, Miss 
Black?" 

But before Catharine could utter a syllable in I'eply, 
Julia, who had now recovered, cried out: 

" Mamma ! mamma ! that naughty Miss Black struck 
me; see how she hurt me!" And little Julia motioned 
to the gash in her forehead. 

Mrs. Lawrence turned beligerently upon Catharine, 

" Is this true ?" she asked. 

" It is, madam. Your daughter insulted me, and I 
took that means of chastising her." 

Mrs. Lawrence grew white with anger ; but she re- 
mained silent, for she saw the admiration visible in 
the heiress' face for Catharine, who never appeared to 
better advantage than she did now, with her majestic 
figure draped in black, and ner golden-brown hair 
wound like a coronal around her small, well-shaped 



CATHAKINE. 853 

That evening, when they were all seated in the 
brilliantly-lighted drawing-room (Sir Roger included), 
Mrs. Lawrence made known to them her plans for the 
summer. Their destination was to be Sharon Springs, 
and afcer some deliberation, she had come to the con- 
clusion to take Catharine with her. She was certainly 
very deft in trimming and adorning her dresses ; be- 
sides, she Jiad a certain style of arranging her yellow 
tresses almost equal to that of a Parisian hair-dresser. 
And noticing the coldness existing between her and Sir 
Roger, and thinking that Arthur must become enam- 
ored of Miss Greyson because she so desired it, she 
now made knowu her intention to Catharine, marvel- 
ling how she would receive it. 

For a moment Catharine remained quiet ; then with 
heightened color she said quietly : 

"1 will go only upon one condition." 

"And that condition. Miss Black?" queried Mrs. 
Lawrence. 

" Simply this : Although I'm not at all ashamed to 
have it known that 1 work for a living, yet — '' 

She blushed, hesitated, whilst Mrs. Lawrence fin- 
ished the question to her own satisfaction. 

" You shall eat at the same table, and be treated in 
every respect as one of the family, she said." 

And thus that question was settled between them. 



CHAPTER III. 

"Palatine Bridge!" shouted the conductor. The 
cars stopped for a moment ; a party of gentlemen and 
ladies alighted from the densely crowded car, and in 
another instant the engine, like a "fire-throated ser- 
pent," was rushing rapidly away. 

It was an intensely close and sultry day in July, 
and it was with a feeling of indescribable pleasure 
that Mrs. Lawrence found herself and party seated at 
last in a lumbering old coach, jogging slowly along 
in the direction of Sharon. The scenery along the road 
was both varied and beautifal, and many an ejacula- 
tion of pleasure burst rapturously from Catharine's 
lips, as every now and then they passed some deep, 
dark glade, shaded by the waving boughs of cedar and 
hemlock trees ; but the rest of the party remained 
silent. 

Oh, how fearfully hot the day seemed! The sun 
poured down with its fervid rays of heat, and shone 
brilliantly in the dilapidated coach, until Mrs. Law- 
rence's patience was well nigh exhausted ; and, after' 
23 



354 CATHARINE. 

repeated joltings from one side of the seat to the other, 
she vehemently declared that if this were going to 
SharoQ she certainly never desired to go again! And 
after this tirade somewhat harshly given, the worthy 
lady lapsed again into silence.- Suddenly the stillness 
was brokeu by Miss Grayson, who asked of Mrs. Law- 
rence, rather abruptly, the name of the hotel at which 
ehe engaged rooms. 

"The Eldredge House," was Itlrs. Lawrence's an- 
swer, spoken rather sullenly, for she felt in no mood 
for talking just then. 

"The Eldredge House! And why not the Pavil- 
ion?" quoth the heiress. 

" Simply because I preferred the Eldredge House. 
The Pavilion, although unmistakably a very fashion- 
able hotel, and one of the first-class houses, too, is by 
no means the first. Now, to my mind, the Eldredge 
House is far more aristocratic ; and certainly ail of the 
elite of New York and Boston as a general thing stop 
there. Now, Miss Grayson, are you convinced ?" 

" Ay, verily," smilingly admitted the dashing heir- 
ess. 

When Mrs. Lawrence's stock of patience was wholly 
exhausted, and that of the others nearly so, our party 
found their journey of nine long, weary miles at an 
end at last, and the coach drew slowly up in front of 
the Eldredge Hotel, or what was formerly knorrn as 
the Brown Hoase; a laige, gloomy looking building 
of ugly structure, standing a little back from the road, 
and wholly surroauded by a profusion of beautiful 
maples of nearly half a century's growth. The hotel 
looked very shady and pleasant to our tired and heated 
travellers, after their lung and dreary ride over the 
rough roads. It was jast after the fashionable dinner 
hour, and the piazza was thronged with gay and fash- 
ionable people from nearly every part of the globe. 
Dashing gentlemen and gorgeously-attired ladies were 
promenading arm in arm upon the piazza, while the 
older people, and those more staid in habits, were 
seated here and there in groups, conversing in low 
tones upon the sundry topics of the day. 

Two gentlemen stood a little apart from the crowd 
of pleasure-seekers, as the coach drew slowly up in 
front of the hotel. 

" Only look, Leighton," exclaimed Lord L , the 

older and plainer niiu of the two; "just cast your 
eyes in the direction of those people now issuing from 
the stage ! Certainly the most distinguished and aris- 
tocratic looking party 1 have seen yet at the Springs. 
1 wonder who they are ? There is certainly an unmis- 



CATHARINE. 355 

takable air about them, indicative of wealth and refine- 
ment. By Jove ! Colonel, jusc look at that lady ! Did 
you ever in your life see a more beautiful and queenly 
girl than that?" he cried, as Catharine swept past 
them, lookintc colder and statelier than ever in com- 
parison with her two rather showily dressed compan- 
ions, in her neatly fitting travelling dress and tastily 
trimmed hat. 

Bat Col. Leighton did not answer. He was slowly 
following along in the direction of the party that had 
just passed them. 

"Strange," he murmured, "but I'm convinced that 
it could be no other than that fascinating and most 
bewitchingly beautiful of all beings — Miss Black ! 
But how came she here? and who is that fierce, bri- 
gandish looking man in attendance upon her with the 
look and air of a very prince ?" 

His musings were here cut short by arriving at the 
reception-room, which our party had just entered, and 
in another moment he was beading low over Catha- 
rine's small, neatly gloved hand, murmuring in low, 
glad tones his pleasure at meeting Miss Black at 
Sharon. 

Sir Roger and Arthur looked with bitter jealousy 
on this handsome colonel, scarcely acknowledging the 
introduction given them by Catharine and standing a 
little aloof from the rest, when the hall boy entered, 
signifying his readiness to conduct them to their rooms. 

When our party entered the brilliantly lighted par- 
lors that evening their entrance was greeted with uai- 
versal admiration. There was to be a grand hop that 
night, and many, nay, nearly all the ladies were look- 
ing as well as art and fashion could make them ; but 
our three ladies outshone them all. Mrs. Lawrence 
was very prettily and tastily attired in a robe of blue 
satin, while Mi~s Grayson shone resplendent in a 
lemon-colored silk, relieved by trimmings of Spanish 
lace. But upon Catharine every eye was instantly 
rivetted. Never in her life, perhaps, had she appeared 
to better advantage than she did this evening. A dress 
of pare white fell in soft, fleecy folds about her stately 
form ; her golden-brown hair was brushed carelessly 
back from her white forehead in accordance with the 
prevailing style, and gathered in a luxuriant knot 
behind by a single curiously wrought ornament — the 
only one she possessed, and which had been given her 
by Mrs Gray. Murmurs of low, half-suppressed ad- 
miration greeted her on every side, and she became 
instantly the "cynosure of all eyes." And yet the 
unanimous verdict pronounsed by all who ,jazed upon 



856 CATHARINE. 

that coldly beautiful face and truly majestic figure was: 
"Utterly cold and unimpressible as marble." Ah! 
Sir Roger and Arthur might have told them differently. 
They had seen her when the patrician calm of that 
exquisitely perfect face was flushed to a burning heat, 
and her heart filled with a volcano of passion, render- 
ing ber for the time being utterly oblivious to every- 
thing passing around her ; but to-night she could not 
have been colder had she been ice itself. 

They were no sooner seated than Colonel Leighton 
joined them, instantly claiming Catharine's hand for 
the set that was just forming ; and Sir Roger had the 
very delightful pleasure of seeing Catharine led away 
by the handsomest and wealthiest man in the room. 
Gnashing his teeth and muttering invectives against 
this fascinating colonel, who was everywhere con- 
spicuous for his splendid figure and immense riches, 
Sir Roger steeled his heart against Catharine, devoting 
himself assiduously the remainder of the evening to 
pretty Mrs. Lawrence, while Arthur paid every atten- 
tion imaginable to his witty and dashing partner, the 
heiress. 

During the evening, as Colonel Leighton and 
Catharine were standing a little apart from the rest, 
the former said — 

" I scarcely imagined when I started for Sharon a 
week ago, that I shoald have the delightful pleasure 
of meeting Miss Black here. How did you leave Mrs. 
Gray, and why is she not also at Sharon?" 

"Leave Mrs. Gray! Is it possible yon are not 
aware of that noble lady's decease. Colonel Leigh- 
ton?" asked Catharine. 

"Mrs. Gray deceased! Can it be possible? Pray 
forgive me, Miss Black, for reminding you so sud- 
denly and painfully of that saintly woman's death. 
I am very sorry." And his fine eyes rested sadly 
upon Catharine, and the sad look on his face was an 
index of the deep pity he felt for her being bereft of 
her dearest friend. 

la a low, sad tone, only audible to the listener's 
ear, Cathai-ine gave a brief account of Mrs. Gray's last 
moments. SheNvished also to make him acquainted 
with the great change in her prospects since her 
benefactress' death, but she refrained from so doing, 
thinkintr the place and scene before her not suitable 
for an explanation ; and ere long the cloud dispersed 
from her brow and she was again going with Colonel 
Leighton through the mazes of the dance. 

Not once during the evening had Sir Roger ad- 
dressed her, and Catharine felt slightly indignant, 



CATHARINE. 357 

and not a little troubled at the many attentions he was 
paying Mrs. Lawrence; for although, she woald noD 
confess it even to herself, he was becoming very dear 
to her ; but smothering the unutterable thought iu 
her bosom, she became coldei- and more irreproach- 
able whenever she came in contact with him. 

Sir Roger left the ball-room that night with the 
firm conviction that Catharine loved the colonel, and 
he now became his inveterate enemy. 

Oh, how swiftly and pleasantly passed the days at 
Sharon. Never had there been such an extreme rush 
and crowd at the Springs before. The number of 
titled personag'es was unlimited ; and belles, gay, 
witty and beautiful, but none so much sought after 
and admired as la belle Catharine. But among the 
many aspirants for her hand none were received so 
kindly and deferentially as Colonel Leighton, who 
was every day becoming more and more entangled in 
the " meshes of an unrequited affection." 

One hot, sultry afternoon, Catharine took it into her 
head to wander off alone; and so, unaccompauied by 
any of her retinue of admirers, she set out for a long 
walk in the direction of the ravine. Arriving there 
ere long, an irresistible desire came into her mind to 
gain the height of the lofty hill that towered hundreds 
of feet above her ; and without giving a single thought 
to her white dress she began to ascend the slippery 
bank, clinging once and a while to some shrub that 
would rear its bushy head above her, as every now 
and then a huge stone would dislodge itself, and go 
rolling with fearful velocity past her down the hill. 
The sun shone hotly down upon her, but she heeded 
it not, and with hands torn and bleeding, and dress 
hanging in tatters about her, she gained the top and 
sat down to rest. 

Looking down, finally, like a conqueror, from her 
dizzy height, Catharine beheld, to her intense con- 
sternation and anger, Sir Roger. Yes, it could be no 
other. Surely he must have followed her from the 
hotel, for, even as she looked, she saw him mounting 
the bank she had just ascended. Her first attempt 
was to fly ; but knowing that to be an utter impossi- 
bility in her present state of weariness, she sat still 
and waited. 

In a very short time Sir Roger had gained her side. 
There was a fierce, burning look in his splendid eyes 
that she had never seen there before, and she began 
to tremble, knowing instinctively what was coming; 
while Sir Roger gazed on her iu admiration. She was 
very lovely, wilh her loosely streaming hair aad 



858 CATUARINE. 

pliglitly fluslied cheeks, despite the white dres« -which 
hting ill rents about her. 

For a moment Sir Eotjer stood perfectly still, the 
unquenchable light in his luminous oibs growing 
brighter and brighter; and tlien, in a voice husky 
with suppressed passion, he poured forth his Inve. 

Catharine heard him through, cold and still as a 
marble statue, not a single syllable escaping her; 
then she turned upon him a face splendidly calm and 
passionless, and — refused him ! 

And yet she loved this man; loved him as only 
such natures as hers are capable of loving. But like 
mauy another vain girl, the uncoutrollrtble thought 
entered her head that it would be a great triumph to 
reject so very popular a man as Sir Eoger, which she 
did accordingly. 

Sir Roger staggered back, his brow dark and low- 
ering, while his eyes were terrible in their fiery 
splendor as he gazed fiercely upon her. Grasping her 
arm witli an iroa grasp he cried out passiouMtely — 

"You shall be mine — I swear it ; and not all the 
powers of earth shall prevent me from making you 
my wife! Think you, proud girl, that the slight af- 
fection that^t?p2^2/ of a colonel feels for you is one 
thousandth part of the deep, passionate love I bear 
you? Catharine, Catharine!" 

He glai-ed upon her as if he would fain have in- 
fused into his own being the whole of her beautiful 
image. 

Catharine covered her face with her hands, a pain- 
ful scream issuing from her now bloodless lips. The 
grasp on her arm was tightening each moment, while 
the awful, intolerable splendor of his deep, dark eyes 
dazzled her— confounded her — and filled her with the 
strangest alarm possible. With almost superhuman 
energy she wrenched herself free from his merciless 
grasp, and sped like lightning down the hill, glanc- 
ing back once to see Sir Eoger standing there like a 
column, frozen, petrified to the spot. Swiftly, trem- 
bling, Catharine sped through the street, never re- 
marking the strange looks cact by the village people 
at her ghastly face, dishevelled hair and tattered robe, 
but str.ving with a desperate energy to reach the 
hotel before her strength should leave her. At last, 
when her very heart seemed to fail her, she reached 
her haven. 

She remained quietly in her room the remainder of 
the day. That evening she had to go through the 
painful process of refusing Colonel Leightou and 
Arthur Lynne, 



CATHARINE. 359 

The next morning everybody in the hotel was 
thunderstruck upon hearing that Sir Roger Marlcham 
was thought to be dangerously sick. It seemed that 
a hall boy entering his room that morning, carrying 
his daily pitcher of sulphur water, had rushed down 
to the office with the startling information that there 
was " a raving man up stairs at ^o SO," and a doctor 
was instantly sent for. 

A celebrated physician, resident at Sharon, soon 
came, who pronounced it one of the worst cases of 
brain fever, brought on by fierce mental excitement. 
As he was leaving his patient's room he heard his 
name uttered softly, and looking around he saw a 
pale, wondrously beautiful girl, of qupenly bearing, 
and brown dishevelled hair, whose golden brightness 
crowned like a "circle of flame" her regal head. For 
a moment the doctor stood speechless in admiration at 
the vision of loveline-s, then he roused himself to hear 
this queenly maiden asking beseechingly — 

" doctor! . is there not the least ray of hope to be 
entertained for his recovery ?" 

"Most assuredly there is, my young lady," the 
doctor answei-ed warmly, foi he saw the look of 
sorrow visible on the young girl's face : the only thing 
requisite to aid his recovery is good and tender 
nursing." 

" And he shall have it," she replied firmly. *' I am 
his betrothed wife." 

And good and tender nursing he did have. Day 
after day and night after night Catharine watched by 
Lis bedside, until one morning he awoke to find the 
cobwebs cleared from his brain — awoke to find that 
Mrs. Lawrenc-i's queen. y seamstress would become 
his wife. 

Mrs. Lawrence, knowing that Sir Roger was now 
lost to her forever, and knowing also that Catharine 
would inevitably become his wife, treated her seam- 
stress with exceeding kindness; while Arthur, know- 
ing that Catharine was irrevocably lost to him, now 
transferred his aflFections to Miss Grayson, who was 
in no way unwilling to take up with Miss Black's dis- 
carded lover. 

In October, when the whole earth was made re- 
splendent by the gayly colored leaves of autumn, Mrs. 
Lawrence's seamstress became the wife of Sir Roger 
Markham, while the dashing heiress changed her 
name from Grayson to Lynne. 

Every summer regularly Sir Roger and his beauti- 
ful, queenly wife spend a month or two at Sharon, 
and he never regrets the day that he married Mrs. 



S60 ADVENTURE "WITH THE WOLVES. 

Lawrence's seamstress. Colonel Leightou is still 
single, and will probably remain so all his lifetime, 
as it will be impossible for him ever to find another 
Catharine equal to his first love. Catharine's greatest 
sorrow is that he is unhappy. 



ADVENTURE WITH THE WOLVES. 

During the year 1850, I made a visit to my uncle, 
who was living on his farm in central Minnesota, and 
while there the following adventure befell me. 

A.S will be remembered by many of the old pioneers 
of Minnesota, the winter of ISoO was severe and j)ro- 
tracted ; heavy falls of snow, followed invariably by 
gusts of the cutting northwest wiud, weather-bound 
most of the wild game ; indeed all, excepting the sus- 
picious wolf and coyote, which were compelled to 
leave their mountain haunts to obtain something for 
subsistence. 

At night they would swarm from the dark recesses 
and mountain gorges to the open prairie, over which 
they would roam in packs, ranging from ten to a hun- 
dred to a pack, incessantly giving free vent to their 
mournful wail, horrible howls and snapping barks. 

One day, near noon, I left the cabin in the hopes of 
killing a turkey, whose tracks my uncle had discov- 
ered, three or four miles back, while chopping wood. 

It may seem strange to the reader that I should be 
so foolish as to go to hunt a single wild turkey, when 
I was in a region literally running over with game of 
far more value, but the truth was, as I have stated be- 
fore, the cold weather compelled them to remain in 
their dens, or resort to retreats of a more salubrious 
nature ; and not a single deer, buffalo, or bear was 
seen in the neighborhood of our cabin from one week's 
end to the other. 

The day was bright, sunshiny, and extremely cold, 
the air crisp and biting, while the excessive labor of 
tramping through a foot of snow was all that kept my 
blood warm, and stimulated my rash expedition. On 
I travelled until I arrived at a spot where, by the axe 
of my uncle, a huge oak had been levelled ; great 
broad chips strewed the snow in every direction, mak- 
ing it apparent that he was an expert with the axe. 
Jumping on the log, I executed a series of jigs to dis- 
pel the numbness which had been gradually taking 
possession of my limbs. 



ABVENTURE WITH THE WOLVES. 361 

BeiHg somewhat rejuvenated by this judicious ope- 
ration, I again pushed off in the snow, and shortly 
came on the track of that confounded wild turkey. 
The trail I followed for a considerable distance, then 
stopping, I uttered an imitation of tbe gobbler's note, 
and had the great satisfaction of receiving an answer. 

From the peculiar gobble, I was confident that it 
was a male, and examining the condition of my rifle, I 
cautiously moved toward the dense thicket of hazel 
a short way off, from which the sound arose. Gain- 
ing the bush, I kneeled, and repeated the cry of the 
wild turkey, which was instantly answered by the 
proud b'rd, which emerged from the thicker brush, 
and came strutting toward me, with his fine neck 
raised, and the brilliant leathers flashing in the glaring 
sun. 

With numb and almost frozen hands I carefully 
raised my rifle, and, after a deliberate aim, flied. The 
turkey flopped his wings, or wing, for one fell broken 
by his side, and with a shrill gobble, darted off 
through the woods ; but its crop was too empty to es- 
cape by running, and I soon overtook him. Annoyed 
at the walk he had given me, I dealt him a whack 
across his head that settled his earthly accounts in a 
twinkling. 

By this time the sun had reached the western hori- 
zon, warning me that it was time to think of home; 
60, shouldering my game, I started to return. 

Night settled over the forest before I had travelled 
two miles ; but the bright, round moon that rolled up 
from the east rendered it almost as bright as mid-day. 

On I pushed, whistling some quaint old tune, and 
contemplating the comfort I would enjoy when I once 
more reached the cabin. While thus reflecting, I was 
brought to a dead halt so suddenly that I dropped my 
turkey. With a palpitating heart I listened to a sound 
that chilled my very blood. The sound was again 
wafted to my startled eai's on the still night air, and 
if ever the howl of a wolf sounded unearthly this did. 
A prolonged wail, ending with a sharp, savage, tri- 
umphant bark or yelp greeted me, and knowing too 
well that they had scented the turkey's blood, I 
abandoned it without scruple, and commenced a 
hurried flight through the snow-clad wilderness. To 
redouble my fright, a huge night owl flapped his 
wings near my head, uttering his evil omen with 
startling distinctness. 

It was not long before the very woods seemed ring- 
ing with horrible yells, howls, aud barks. 

As I hurried on I heard the wolves snarling over 



eba SHEET LIGHTNING. 

the dead tuikey, and on looking back, I detected the 
black mass of shaggy bodies rising and falling as 
they galloped through the snow after me. I had 
given up all hope of escaping a horrible death, for it 
"was impossible to ascend a tree, as my hands wei-e 
almost paralyzed with the cold. 1 was about drop- 
ping from exhaustion, when I saw an old hollow and 
rotten log. The hole was large enough to admit my 
body by a little squeezing, and you may believe I was 
safely ensconced in that tree in the wink of your eye. 
All night I lay in the log, almost frozen to death, 
with a pack of half-famished wolves howling at the 
entrance. When dav dawned they snealvod away, 
and as the sun rose, there was not a wolf within 
miles Crawling from that beloved log, I made a 
short trip home, and over a good tumbler of apple- 
jack, related my adventure to the folks, who were 
preparing to go in search of me. 



SHEET LIGHTNING. 

The frequency of this phenomenon, and thebeanty of 
the display on several recent occasions, induces us to 
quote the following description of the meteor by C. B. 
Thompson: 

" There is an electric phenomenon of peculiar char- 
acter, termed sheet or summer lightning [eclairs de 
chaleur) unaccompanied by thunder, or too distant to 
be heard. When it appears, the whole sky, but par- 
ticularly the horizon, is suddenly illuminated by a 
flickering flash. Matteucci supposes that it is produced 
either during evaporation, or evolved (according to 
Pouillet's theory) in the process of vegetation, or 
generated by chemical action in the great laboratory 
of nature, the earth, and accumulated in the lower 
strata of the air, in consequence of the ground being 
then an imperfect conductor. Arago and Kamtz have 
adopted a very diS'erent view of the nature of these 
lightnings, considering them as reflections of distant 
thunder-storms; and the author has often observed 
thunder-storms preceded and followed by this phe- 
nomenon. "We have seen the cumulostratus cloud in the 
horizon start into view during the play of summer 
lightning. Saussure informs ns that he observed sheet 
lightnings in the direction of Geneva, from the Hospice 
du Grimal, on the 10-llth of July, 1783, while at the 
same time a terrific thunder-storm raged at Geneva. 



FLOWERS. '-63 

Howard mentions that from the neighborhood of 
Tottenham, near London, on July 31st, 1813, he saw 
the sheet lightning toward the southeast, while the 
sky was spangled with stars, not a cloud floating iu 
the air ; at the same time a thunder-storm raged at 
Hastings, and in France from Calais to Dunkirk. Arago 
instances the following illustration in support of his 
opinion, that the pheuomenou is reflected lightning: 
In 1S03, when observations were being made for de- 
termining longitude, Monsieur deZach, ontheBrocken, 
used a few ounces of gunpowder as a signal, the flash 
of which was visible from the Klenlemberg, sixty 
leagues off, though these mountains are invisible from 
each other, " 



FLOWERS. 

Beatttifitl flowers ! wherever ye bloom, 
With your soft-tinted leaves, and your fragrant per- 
fume ; 
"Whether in Spring ye come forth from the ground ; 
Or when Autumn scatters her dead leaves around: 
Whether in cottage or palace ye dwell, 
Beautiful flowers ! Hove ye well. 

Behold a young girl in her mirthful play, 

Laughing the hours of childhood away ; 

The light winds are waving her sunny hair, 

And her voice sounds sweet in the silent air, 

While her fair hands are twining from Summer 

bowers. 
Wild blooming wreaths of the beautiful flowers. 

The scene is now changed, for years have flown ; 
That gay laughing girl to a woman has grown; 
And the lover is there, who fain would tell 
The secret their eyes have revealed too well! 
But flowers he plants in her snowy breast, 
And their eloquent leaves have his love confest. 

'Tis a bridal morn, and loudly swells 

A merry peal from the old church bells ; 

The white rob'd bride is smiling now, 

'Ifeath a budding wreath from the orange bough • 

And bright-eyed maidens before her strew 

Beautiful flowers of every hue. 



eb4 THE FAMILY. 

There's a voice of sorrow — for time hath fled — 
A wife and a mother lies cold and dead ; 
They've laid her to sleep in her endless rest, 
With a young babe clasped to her marble bx'east; 
And flowers are there, with their perfum'd breath, 
Decking the bud and the blossom in death. 

In the green church-yard is a lonely spot, 

Where the joyous sunshine enters not ; 

Deep in the gloom of the cypress shade, 

There is her home in the cold earth made ; 

And over still the sweet flow'rets bloom — 

They were near her in life, and forsake not her tomb. 

Beautiful flowers, ye seem to be ■ 

Link'd in the fond ties of memory! 

Companions ye were to our childhood's day — 

Companions ye are to our lifeless clay ; 

And barren and deai-er were this world of ours. 

Lacking the smile of the beautiful flowers. 



THE FAMILY. 

When we consider how carelessly the foundations 
for the family superstructure are laid, the wonder is, 
not that ruin ensues, but that it is not more general 
than it is now found to be. Two persons from two 
already established families separate themselves to 
establish a third, whose taste, habits, and dispositions 
are little known to each other, and may prove totally 
dissimilar and at variance. 

In every well-regulated household there must be a 
supreme head or umpire— one to whom all may ap- 
peal, and whose decisions must be final ; from whom 
there is no appeal; a wise, loving, judicious centre, 
who is to be looked up to as counsellor, friend, judge. 
Where authority is divided conflicts will arise, dissen- 
sions will exist, and these will mar the harmony of 
the family, disarrange its domestic economy, and 
eventually endanger the happiness and well-being of 
ihe inmates. 

Who shall be the head of the household? St. Paul 
decided the question nearly two thousand years ago, 
by assering that "man. is head of tlie woman," and 
she ought to be subject to her husband, etc. 1 know 
the masculine arrogance of ttie Jew denied the equality 
of woman, and accepted her in the aspect of sex mostly 
as Paganism d.d entirely. The Jews excluded womeu 



THE FAMILY. 600 

then, as now, from the main body of the tabernacle in 
worship, and yet in the earlier and better ages she had 
been recognized in the nation both as judge and pro- 
phetess. 

My opinion is this: that the man is the rightful, 
prox^er head of the family ; that the wife, children, 
and servants must and ought to yield not only re- 
spect but obedience to him as the head and ruler of 
the household ; in his place there he should be king and 
priest, he should rule and worship in the altar-place 
of home. 

The second is loyalty. 

This involves perfect confidence and candor in the 
• various members. Where the great law of the house- 
hold is love, this need not be enjoined; where. each 
member is bound by the spirit of genuine good will, 
loyalty or fidelity, each to each, is comparatively 
easy ; it assumes the aspect of an instinct, rather than 
of moral obligation ; but where, as is too often the 
case, discordant elements are introduced, this senti- 
ment of loyalty, or a high sense of honor, must take 
its place. 

The four walls inclosing a household should be re- 
garded as sacred, now as the olden time, when the 
hearthstone was sacred to the genial, peace-loving 
Hestia, and the Penates were wor.-^ hipped in the pene- 
tralia of every dwelling. Here was set i^p the domes- 
tic altar, distinct from all outward and external ob- 
servances, and regarded by the family alone. 

The head— husband and father — ought to hold not 
only a protective and provident care over the family, 
but a beneficent authority also ; as a general rule it is 
supposed to supply all its material wants ; his toil, 
his talents, his purse, hold the household together^ 
and give it dignity in the eyes of the world : there- 
fore £e should magnify his office and make it honora- 
hie ; he should be right royal in his demeanor, exempt 
from shams at home and abroad, true and manful^ 
that his example be a safe model for the younger 
members of' the household; and, in turn, the family 
should cheerfully uphold his authority, for whatever 
enhances his dignity is reflected upon the family. 

A woman should not marry till of an age to know 
and appreciate the importance of the step she is abouf 
to take ; but once married, she must not only make 
the best of her "bargain," be it good or bad, but she 
must also bear in mind that she has positive and sol- 
emn duties to perform. 

A woman's part is generally a subordinate one. Her 
marriage contract involves the condition of obedience 



366 THE FAMILY. 

as well as chastity ; it rests with the wife to preserve 
order, cheerfulaess, aud frugality, in the household. 
She is to see that what the husband provides is not 
wastefully squandered ; she is to look well to the ways 
of her household, and not eat the bread of idleness. 

Further than this, let the husband's faults be what 
they may, his good name is in part in her keeping, 
aud she aud her children must sink or rise to his level. 
The woman who proclaims the errors of her husband 
is the meanest of all traitors. 

I know of nothing more base than for a woman to 
take the name of a man, eat his bread and mother his 
children, and then go about to abuse aud vilify him. 
She is like an unclean bird, which has crept over near 
to the ijreciucts of chaste love aud divine purily. 

The husbaud is obliged to brunt the world with its 
manifold trials aud temptations ; to meet the sharp 
encounter of men in the competition for wealth, fame, 
and position. He has much to annoy and distress 
him, hidden wisely from her eyes, it may be ; for I 
kuow of nothing more contemptible and imbecile than 
the whining complaints with which some men come 
into the family circle aud cover it over like a wet 
blanket. He has much to exasperate him, also, and 
woe to the man who, after this hard contest with the 
outer world, comes home to a moody and discordant 
household — a selfish, idle-minded, or discontented 
wife I 

A wife is not without authority in the family ; she 
must be obeyed in all household matters; the hus- 
band will uphold her authority aud sustain her in ex- 
acting obedience from her children and dependents. 

If she would have individual respect, she must have 
a wise discretion that may be relied upon ; a self-poise 
aud equanimity, at once firm and geutle ; and an un- 
flinching, reliable integrity, above suspicion or re- 
proach. 

We sometimes hear quite estimable women appeal- 
ing to their husbands to insist upon the obedience of 
children or dependents. This is a great mistake and 
the cause of much domestic disquiet, aud indicates 
not only petti^huess, but imbecility on the part of the 
wile. Her children should obey from spontaneous 
love and del'erence. It is all over with her when she 
is obliged to say to them: "I will tell your father if 
you do not obey me." 

Such a woman is either weak or wicked ; either is 
bad enough in a family 



A GOOD WIFE. 367 



A GOOD WIFE. 

A GOOD wirE makes the poorest and most desolate 
home a paradise, and moulds the most negligent and 
indifferent husband into a tender and thoughtful com- 
panion. The influence of woman— quiet, impercepti- 
ble, and all persuasive — is irresistible when directed 
by woman's instinctive tact and affection. The clam- 
orers for woman's rigiits rarely attain their object; 
while the meek and yielding can bind mar>hood with 
chains of roses, more potent than chains of steel. The 
first inquiry of a woman after marriage should be — 
" How shall I continue the love I have inspired ? How 
shall I preserve the heart I have won?" Endeavor 
to make your husband's habitation alluring to him. 
Let it be to him a sanctuary, to which his heart may 
always turn from the calamities of life. Make it a re- 
pose from his cares — a shelter from the world — a home 
not for his person only, but for his heart. He may 
meet with pleasure in other houses, but let him find 
happiness in his own. Should he be dejected, soothe 
him ; should he be silent and thoughtful, do not heed- 
lessly disturb him ; should he be studious, favor him 
with all practicable facilities ; or should he be peev- 
ish, make allowance for human nature, and by your 
sweetness, gentleness, and good humor, urge him con- 
tinually to think, though he may not own it — "This 
woman is indeed a comfort to me; 1 cannot but love 
her, and requite such gentleness and affection as they 
deserve." 

Invariably adorn yourself with delicacy and mod- 
esty. These, to a man of refinement, are attractions 
the most highly captivating, while their opposite.^ 
never fail to inspire disgust. Let the delicacy and 
modesty of the bride be always, in a great degree, sup- 
ported by the wife. If it be possible, let your husband 
suppose you think him a good husband, and it will 
be a strong stimulus to his being so. As long as he 
thinks he possesses the reputation, he will take some 
pains to deserve it; but when he has once lost the 
name, he will be apt to abandon the reality. Culti- 
vate and exhibit, with the greatest care and constancy, 
cheerfulness and good humor. They give beauty to 
the finest face, and impart a charm where charms are 
not. Or, on the contrary, a gloomy, dissatisfied man- 
ner is chilling and repulsive to l-'is feelings. He will 



at>0 THE TALE OF A TRAVELLER. 

be very apt to seek elsewhere for those smiles and that 
cheerfulness which he finds not in his own house. 

In the article of dress, study your hushand's tastes. 
The opinions of others on this subject are of very little 
consequence if he approves. Particularly shun what 
the world calls, in ridicule, " curtain lectures." When 
you shut your door at night endeavor to shut out, the 
same moment, all discord and contention, and look 
■upon your chamber as a secret retreat from the vexa- 
tions of the world — a shelter sacred to peace and afiec- 
tion. How indecorous, offensive and sinful it is for a 
woman to exercise authority over her husband, and 
to say — " I will not have it so ; it shall be as I like." 
But we trust the number of those who adopt this un- 
becoming and disgraceful manner is so small as to 
render it unnecessary for us to enlarge on the subject. 

Be careful never to join in a jest and laugh at your 
husband. Conceal his faults, and speak only of his 
merits. Shun every approach to extravagance. The 
want of economy has involved millions in misery. 
Be neat, tidy, orderly, methodical. Rise early, break- 
fast early, have a place for everything, and every- 
thing in its place. Few things please a man more 
than seeintr his wife notable and clever in the man- 
agement of her household. A knowledge of cookery, 
as well as every other branch in housekeeping, is in- 
dispensible in a woman ; and a wife should always 
endeavor to support with applause the character of 
the lady and the housewife. Let the home be your 
empire — your world. Let it be the scene of your 
wishes, your thoughts, your plans, your exertions. 
Let it be the stage on wliich, in the varied character 
of mother, of wife, and mistress, you strive to shine. 
In its sober, quiet scenes, let your heart cast its 
anchor; let your feelings and pursuits all be cen- 
tered. Leave to your husband the task of distin- 
guishing himself by his valor or his talents. Do you 
seek for fame at home, and let your applause be that 
of your servants, your children, your husband, your 
God. That fame is noblest which the true, loving', 
and affectionate wife secures from among the inmates 
of the family circle. 



THE TALE OF A TRAVELLER. j, 

"YoTT see," said my great-grandfather, who had || 

gathered a crowd of frienis around him at the grocery i 
store in Darby, one evening ; "You see, I was once 



THE TALE OF A TRAVELLEE. c69 

a sailor Tbefore the mast, on a small vessel, which was 
ci'uising about in the iSouth Atlantic Ocean. 

She was a very small vessel, and so frail that I was 
afraid most all the time that she would go to pieces 
wlt1i all on board, but she didn't. It happened one 
day that I was sent aloft to nail some kind of a block 
on the top of the mainmast, and as we had no hatchet, 
I took an axe. I hit the mast three or four pretty stiff 
knocks, when all of a sudden I thought I felt her go 
down with a jerk. But she looked all right, and I 
thought it couldn't po-sibly be. ISo I came down and 
said nothing about it. 

Three or four days afterwards the mate says to the 
captain: 

" Cap. it's queer we don't sight land by this time.'' 

"Very queer," says the captain. 

"And what's funny about it is, that for several 
days my instruments have made us out to be in pre- 
cisely the same latitude and longitude." 

"Maybe something's the matter with the sun." 

"Or perhaps the parallels of latitude have shifted." 

" Or maybe you've made a mistake in your figures." 

" I didn't think of that," says the mate. 

So they took~another observation, and found that 
they were in the same old place. Everybody was 
frightened, and it was not until after a close examina- 
tion that it was at last ascertainedthat I had actually 
driven the mainmast down through the bottom of the 
ship into the mud, where it had stuck fast, and there 
the old tub had been spinning round and round, like a 
weathercock on a pole, all this time, without anybody 
knowing it. 

To say that the captain was mad don't describe his 
condition. He roared around so about it that I got 
frightened, and hid myself in an old cask in the hold. 
There I laid all da,y, when it was decided to heave 
part of the cargo overboard so as to lighten ship, and 
the cask I was in was headed up, and me afra;d to 
budge, and the whole concern heaved into the sea. 

I was in that barrel about four days. It w«s a little 
crowded, to be sure, and it would roll some, but on 
the whole I was comfortable. One day I felt myself 
tossed on shore, and then I was so certain of saving 
my life, that I just turned over and took a flrst- 
class nap. 

I was waked by something tickling my face. At 
first I thought it was a mosquito, but then I remem- 
bered that no mosquito could possibly have got into 
that barrel anyhow. I brushed at it again, and caught 
it. It was a straw. I gave it a jerk. Something 

/ 24 



370 THE TALE OP A TRAVELLER. 

knocked against the barrel outside, and I heard tWe 
■word — 

"Tuyful!" 

Thenanotner straw was inserted, and I pulled that 
harder yet. Something struck the barrel again, and I 
heard this exclamation: 

"Der Teyfel!" 

Then another straw was put in, and I caught hold 
of it, and saw that it came tlirough the bung-hole, and 
there was a man outside trying to suck something or 
other through that straw, and every time I gave her a 
jerk it jammed his old nose flat agaiast the staves. 
So I gave her one more pull, and then, kicking the 
head out of the cask, I got out, and said to this fellow : 

" Look a here ; what in the deuce are you trying to 
do, anyhow?" 

" Nein,''^ says he, shaking his head. 

"What are you fooling around here for, say ?" 

" Nein,^' says he. 

" That makes eighteen," says I. 

*' Ntin,''^ says he. 

"Twenty-seven," says I. "Go on; I'll add it up 
for you. I'm a lightning calculator, I am." 

" Ne.in." 

"Thirty-six, I said. " You appear to be a regular 
original old first nine. What club do you belong to, 
anyway ?" 

" A'em," says he, still shaking his head. 

"Forty-fl — ." Just then it flashed across my mind 
that he was a Dutchman. 

" Beer," says I, to try him. 

I had touched a sympathetic chord in his nature. 

" Oh, yaw, yaw!" says he. "Ha! ha! das ist goot ! 
Oh, yaw I" and we rushed into each others' arms and 
wept. 

I felt that I had found a friend. 

I sincerely wished he had been my long lost brother, 
with the regular thing in strawberry marks on his 
arm, only I never had a brother, and he was never 
long lost, and never had anything on his arm. 

But this German was a good fellow. He lived in 
Dutch Guiana, and had a wife and three pretty daugh- 
ters, who were so precisely alike that I never could 
tell one from the other. I fell in love with one of them, 
I never could tell which, so I courted them all three, 
just as they happened to come. 

One day they all came in together. I tried to be 
sweet on the one I thought was the right girl, and the 
other two got so mad that I was afraid They'd burst 
8ome blood-vessel or other. Then all three of them 



THE TALE OF A TRAVELLER. Oil 

said I had promised to marry them, and all three of 
them repeated the fond words 1 had whispered to them, 
and accused me of treachery. 

It looked rough for me. There was entirely too 
much Love's chidings for comfort. I then offered to 
marry them all three, and take them to Salt Lake ; or 
to cut myself in three pieces ; or to drown myself with 
them, and perish in four watery graves. 

EespectfuUy, but firmly declmed. 

Then they all went out. After a bit one came in 
and said: 

" Abijah, dear, let us elope together, and leave these 
horrid women, and go to some sunny clime, where we 
can be happy in the fulness of each other's love." 

" I will think it over, ray aogel," said I. 

Sbe passed out. Then one of them came in again. 

"Abijah, dear, let us fly together, and leave these 
horrid women, and go to some sunay clime, wherejwe 
can be happy in the fulness of each other's love." 

" I say 1 will think it over, my angel." 

And she disappeared. But she seemed anxious, so 
in she comes again. 

"Abijah, dear, let us fly together, and leave these 
horrid women, and go to some sunny clime, where we 
can be happy in the fulness of each other's love." 

" Look here, now, you've said that three times, and 
that's enough. My mind fully grasps the idea. I say 
I'll think it over." 

"Why, I never said it before," says she 

"The mischief you didn't," said I. 

"Upon my sacred word and hjnor ; I'll cross my 
breast to it." 

I saw it all. They had all three tackled me with 
the same proposition. It was clear that I must fly. I 
made up my mind to take the very first boat that left 
Dutch Guiana for anywhere. 

I left the house and hadn't gone more than a square 
when I saw the parent of the three girls in pursuit. 
We both ran. He carried his boomerang with him. 
He fired it at me. I dodged, and the boomerang flew 
back and brained him on the spot, and there were pre- 
cisely three more beautiful orphans in Dutch Guiana 
than there were when I came. 

I shipped on board an American vessel, and we got 
along well enough till a series of storms set in, and 
we were blown out of our course. The ship then 
sprang a leak, and foundered with all on board but 
me, who clung to the spar, and was washed on shore 
after a ride of three days o'er the dark waters of the 
deep blue sea. 



373 THE TALE OF A TRA^'ELLER. 

I didn't know where I was ; probiiblv in some strange 
land or other, I looked around. There was a hut 
about a mile off. I made tor it. It contained one man. 

" He is another blasted foreigner," said I to myself; 
" there is no use of trying to talk to him." 

I wanted something to eat, so I opened my mouth 
wide, and pointed into it, and said: 

'■ Aw— aw — aw— aw." 

The man was evidently surprised. He appeared to 
think I had swallowed sonietbing or other; so he 
caught me by the jaws, and held them apart while he 
looked down my throat. 

He seemed so disappointed that he didn't say any- 
thing. 

"Aw — aw — aw — ough!"' I grunted, still pointing in 
my mouth. 

It seemed to occur to him that I had the toothache, 
for he went out and got a monkey-wrench, a pair of 
pincers, and a cross-cut saw. 

" Um — um — um — um— um — um ! " said I, in despair, 
rubbing my stomach. 

His face lit up with the idea that I had the cramp 
colic, and he commenced exerting himself to spread 
a mustard-plaster. 1 shook my head, and rubbed my 
stomach, ana grunted : 

" Ow — ow — ow — ow." 

At last he thought he had it — I must be poisoned; 
go he tried to improvise a stomach-pump out of two 
eel-skins and a syringe. 

" Aw — aw — aw — aw !" groaned I, in despair, point- 
ing to my mouth, and drawing a line down to my ab- 
domen. 

The thought suggested itself to him that I wanted 
him to rip me up, so he got out a butcher-knife and 
began sharpening it on his boot. 

He was the most accommodating man I ever saw, 
that fellow. 

Then, as a last resort, I began to clip my teeth to- 
gether as if I were chewing something. He instantly 
jumped to the conclusion that I had been bitten by a 
dog and had hydrophobia. So he first took a bucket 
of water out of the room, and then began to feel my 
leg. 

"Oh, pshaw!" said I, forgetting myself, "I want 
something to eat," 

" Well, why in the thunder didn't you say so, 
then?" said he. "What are you standing there gib- 
bering like some darned jackass for?" 

'• Why, I thought you couldn't understand English ; 
J thought you were a foreigner " said I. 



MATURE SIRENS. 6ii> 

** And I took you for a waudering member of the 
deaf and dumb asylum." 

"Deaf and dumb asylum!" said 1; "of wtiat 
place?" 

•'Wby, of 'New Jpvsey, of course." 

" Is this New Jersey, then ?" I asked. 

" You caa just bet it is. Listen I there's the whistle 
of the Camden and Amboy Railroad Company." I sat 
down and cried like a baby, when I remembered the 
number of times I had dead-headed on that very line 
in days of yore — days, I may say, that were now min- 
gled with the irrevocable fast. 

" Take a clam," said the man, rousing me from my 
revery. 

I took a clam, I took a "snifter," I took all the eata- 
bles aud drinkables ia the place, and then I walked to 
tlie depot and came home, just on the very day, you 
recollect, my wile was going to be married to another 
man, aud I wish I had staid away and let him. 

And that is all. 



MATURE SIRENS. 

Nothing is more incomprehensible to girls than the 
1-ve and admiration sometimes given to middle-aged 
women. They cannot understand it ; and nothing 
but experience will make them understand it. In 
their eyes a woman is out of the pale of personal 
affection altogether, when she has once lost that shin- 
ing gloss of youth, that exquisite freshness of skin and 
suppleness of limb, which to them, in the insolent 
plentitude of their unfaded beauty, constitute thtj 
chief claims to admiration of their sex. And yet, they 
cannot conceal from themselves that the belle of 
eighteen is often deserted for the woman of forty, and 
that the patent witchery of their own youth and 
prettiness goes for nothing against the mysterious 
charms of a mature siren. "What can they say to 
such an anomaly ? There is no good in going about 
the world disdainfully wondering how on earth a 
man could ever have taken up with such an anti- 
quated creature— suggestively asking their male 
Iriends what could he see in a woman other age, old 
enough to be their mother"? There the fact stands, 
and facts are stubborn things. The eligible suitor 
who has been coveted by more than one golden-haired 
girl, has married a woman twenty years her senior, 
and Che mid^ile-aged oireu has actually carried otf the 



374 MATURE SIRENS. 

prize wMch. nymphs in their teens have fi-antically 
desired to win. What is tlie secret? How is it done? 
The world, even of silly girls, has got past any belief 
in spells and talismans, such as Charlemagne's mis- 
tress wore, and yet the man's fascination seems to 
them quite as miraculous and almost as unholy as if 
it had been brought about by the black art. But if 
they had any analytical power, they would iiader- 
stand the diablerie of the mature sirens clearly enough, 
for it is not so difficult to understand when one puts 
one's mind to it. 

In the first place, a woman of ripe age has a knowl- 
edge of the world, aud a certain suavity of manner 
and moral flexibility, wholly wanting to the young. 
Youag girls are, for the most part, all angels -harsh 
in their judgments, stiff ia their prejudices, and narrow 
in their sympatliies. They are full of combativeness 
and self-assertion, if they are of one kind of young 
people, or they are stupid and shy if they beLoog to 
another kind. They are talkative with nothing to 
say, and positive with nothing well aud truly known ; 
or they are monosyllabic dummies, who stammer out 
Yes and Ino at random, and whose brains become 
hopelessly confused at the first sentence a stranger 
utters. They are t;enerally without pity ; their want 
of experience making them hard toward sorrows 
which they scarcely understand, and, let us charitably 
hope, to a certain extent, ignorant of the pain they in- 
flict. That famous article in the Times on the cruelty 
of \oung girls, O'pro'pos of Constance Kent's confes- 
sion, though absurdly exaggerated, had in it the core 
of truth which gives the stiug to such papers which 
makes them stick, and which is the real cause of the 
outcry they create. Girls are cruel; there is no ques- 
tion about it. If more passive than active, they are 
simply indifferent to the sufferings of others ; if of a 
more active temperament, they find a positive pleasure 
in giving pain. A girl will say the most cruel things 
to her dearest friend, and then laugh at her because 
she cries. Even her own mother she will hurt and 
humiliate if she can ; while as for any unfortunate 
aspirant not approved of, were he as tough-skinned 
as a rhinoceros, she would find means to make him 
wince. But all this acerbity is toned down in the 
mature woman. Experience has enlarged her sympa- 
thies, and knowledge of suffering has softened her 
heart to the sufferings of others. Her lessons of life, 
too, have taught her tact ; and tact is one of the most 
valuable lessons that a man or woman can learu. :She 
sees at a glance where are the weak points and sore 



MATURE SIRENS. 375 

places in hei- compauion, and she avoids tliem ; or, if 
she passes over them it is with a hand so soft and 
tender, a touch so inexpressibly soothing, that she 
calms instead of irritating. 

A girl would have come down upon the weak places 
heavily, and would have torn the bandages off the 
sore ones, jesting at scars because she herself had 
never felt a wound, and deriding the sybaritism of di- 
achylon because ignorant of the anguish it conceals. 
Then the mature siren is thoughtful for others. Girls 
are self-asserting and aggi-essive. Life is so strong in 
them, and the instinct which prompts them to try their 
strength with all comers, and to get the best of every- 
thing everywhere, is so irrepressible, that they are 
often disagreeable because of their instinctive selfish- 
ness, and die craving, natural to the young, of taking 
all and giving back nothing. But the mature siren 
knows better than this. She knows that social success 
depends entirely on what each of us can throw into the 
common fund of society; that the surest way to be 
considered ourselves is to be consideiate for others; 
that sympathy begets liking ; and self-suppression, 
leads to exaltation ; and that if we want to gain love, 
we must first show how well we can give it. Her tact 
then, and her sympathy, her moral flexibility and 
quick comprehension of character, her readiness to give 
herself to others, are some of the reasons, among 
others, why the society of a cultivated, agreeable 
woman of certain age is sought by those men to whom 
women are more than mere mistresses or toys. Be- 
sides, she is a good conversationalist. She has no 
pretentions to aay special or deep learning — for, if 
pedantic, she is spoiled as a siren at any age — but she 
knows a little about most things ; at all events, she 
knows enough to make her a pleasant companion, and 
able to keep up the ball when thrown. And men like 
to talk to intelligent women. They do not like to be 
taught or corrected by them, but they like that quick, 
sympathetic intellect which follows them readily, and 
that amount of knowledge which makes a comfortable 
cushion for their own. And a mature siren who 
knows what she is about would never do more than 
this, even if she could. 

Though the mature siren rests her claims to admir- 
ation on more than mere personal charms, and appeals 
to something beyond the senses, yet she is personable 
and well preserved, and, in a favorable light, looks 
nearly as young as ever. So the men say who knew 
her when she was twenty; who loved her then, and 
have gone on loving her, with a difference, despite 



376 MATURE SIRENS. 

the twenty years that lie between this and then. 
Girls, indeed, des,pise her charms because she is 
no lont,'er young; and yet she may be even more 
beautiful tliau youth. She knows all the little 
niceties of dress, and without going into the vul- 
gar trickeries of paint and dyes — whicli would 
make ber hideous — is up to the best arts of the toilet 
by which every minor beauty is given its fullest 
value. For part of the art and mystery of sirenliood is 
an accurate perception of times and conditions, and a 
careful avoidance of that suicidal mistake of which 
la ferame 'pasaee is so often guilty — namely, setting 
her.'^elf in conlessed rivalry with the young by trying 
to look like them, and so losing the good of what she 
has retained, and showing the ravages of time by the 
contrast. The mature siren is wiser than this. She 
knows exactly what she has and what she can do, 
and before all things, avoids whatever seems too 
youthful for her years ; and this is one reason why 
she is always beautiful, because always in harmony. 
Besides she has very many good points — many posi- 
tive charms still left. Her figure is still good — not 
slim and sleuder, certainly, but round and soft, and 
with that slower, riper, lazier grace, which is some- 
thing quite different from the antelope-like elasticity 
of youth, and in its own way as lovely. 

If her hair has lost its maiden luxuriance, she 
makes up with crafty anaugements of lace, which 
are almost as pietui-esque as the fashionable wisp of 
hay-like ends tumbling half way to the waist She 
has still her white and shapely hands, with their pink, 
filberf.-like nail; still her pleasant smile and square 
small teeth; her eyes are bright yet, and if the upper 
muscles are a little shrunk, the consequent apparent 
enlargement of the orbit only makes them more ex- 
pressive ; her lips are not yet withered, her skin is not 
wrinkled. Undeniably, wlien well-dressed and in a 
favorable light, the mature siren is as beautiful in her 
own way as the girlish belle; and the world knows 
it and acknowledges it. 

That mature sirens can be passionately admired even 
when very mature, history gives us more than one ex- 
ample ; and the first name that naturally occurs to 
one's mind as the type of this is tliat of the too 
famous Ninon de I'Eiicios. A.nd Ninon, if a trifle 
mythical, was yet a fact and an example. But not 
going quite to Ninon's ai,'e, we often see women of 
forty and upwards who are personally charming, and 
whom men love with as much warmth and tenderness 
as if they were in the heyday of lile — women who 



MATURE SIRENS. 377 

count their admirers by dozens, and who end by mak- 
ing a superb marriage, and having quite an Indian 
summer of romance and happiness. Tlie young laugh 
at this idea of the Indian summer for a bride of forty- 
five; but it is true; for neither romance nor happi- 
ness, neither love nor mental youth, is a matter of 
years ; and after all we are only as old as we feel, and 
certainly no older than we look. All women do not 
harden by time, nor wither, nor yet corrupt. Some 
merely ripen and mellow, and get enriched by the 
passage of years, retaining the mostdelicatb womanli- 
ness — we hail almost said girlishness — into quiet old 
age, and blushing under their grey hairs, while they 
skrink from anything coarse or vulgar or impure as 
i:ensitively as when they were girls. The woman of 
forty is the French term for tlie opening of the great 
gulf beyond which love cannot pass; but human his- 
tory disproves this date, and shows that the heart can 
remain fresh and the person lovely long after— the 
mature siren can be adored by her own contemporaries 
when the rising generation regard her as nothing 
better tlian a cliimney-corner fixture. Mr. Trollope 
has recognized the claims of the mature siren in his 
" Orley Farm" and "Miss Mackenzie;" and no one 
can deny the intense naturalness of the characters 
and the intenst of the stoi-ies. 

Another point witii the marure woman is that she is 
not jealous nor exacting. iShe knows the world, and 
takes what comes with the philosophy ihat springs 
from knowledge. If she is of an enjoying nature — 
and she cannot be a siren else — .'^he accepts sucli good 
as Hoats to the top without looking too deep into the 
cup and speculating on the time when she shall have 
drained it to the dregs. Men feel safe with her. If 
they have entered on a tender friendship with her, 
they know that there will be no scene, no tears, no 
upbraidings, when an inexorable fate comes in to end 
their pleasant little drama, with the inevitable wife 
as the scene-shifter. The mature siren knows so well 
that fate and the wife must break in between her and 
and her friend, that she is resigned from the first to 
what is foredoomed, and so accepts her bitter portion, 
when it comes, with dignity and in silence. Where 
younger women would fall into hysterics and make a 
scene, perhaps go about the world taking their re- 
venge in slander, the middle-aged woman holds out a 
friendly hand, and takes the back seat gallantly, never 
showing by word or look that she has felt her disposi- 
tion. She becomes the best friend of the new house- 
hold; and, if any one is jealous, ten to one it is the 



378 MATURE SIRENS. 

husband that is jealous of her love for his wife ; or 
perhaps it is the wife herself, who cannot see what her 
husband can find to admire so much in Mrs. A., and 
who puuts at his extraordinary predilection for her, 
though of course she would scorn to be jealous — as, 
indeed, she has no cause. For even a mature siren, 
however delightful she may be, is not likely to come 
before a young wife in the heart of a young husband. 
Though the French paint the love of a woman of forty 
as pathetic, because slightly ridiculous and certainly 
hopeless, yet they arrange the theory of their social 
life, so that a youth is generally supposed to make 
his first love to a married woman many years his 
elder, and a mature siren finds her last lovein a youth. 
We have not come to this yet in England, either in 
theory or practice ; and it is to be hoped that we never 
shall come to it. 

Mature sirens are all very well for men of their own 
age, and it is pleasant to see them still loved and ad- 
mired, and to recognize in them the claims of women 
to something higher than mere personal passion ; but 
the case would be very different if they became ghoul- 
ish seducers of the young, and kept up the habit of 
love by entangling boyish hearts and blighting youth- 
ful lives. As they are now, they form a cnarming 
element in society, and are of infinite use to the world. 
They are the ripe fruit in the garden where else every- 
thing would be green and immature — the last days of 
the golden summer just before the chills of autumn 
come on ; they contain in themselves the advantages 
of two distinct epochs, and while possessing as much 
personal charms as youth, possess also the gains 
which come by experience and maturity. They keep 
things together as the young alone could not do ; and 
no gathering of friends is perfect which has not one or 
two mature sirens to give the tone to the rest, and pre- 
vent excesses. They soften the asperities of high- 
handed boys and girls, which else would be too biting ; 
and they set people at ease, and make them in good 
humor with themselves, by the courtesy with which 
they listen to them, and the patience with which they 
bear with them. Even the very girls who hate them 
fiercely as rivals, love them passing well as half 
maternal, half sisterly companions ; and the first per- 
son to whom they would carry their sorrows would be 
a mature siren, quite capable on her own part of hav- 
ing caused them. It would be hard, indeed, if the 
loss of youth did not bring with it some compensa- 
tions ; but the mature siren suffers less from that loss 
than any othei kind of woman. Indeed, she seems to 



ADVENTURE WITK A COBRA. 379 

have a private elixir of her own which is not quite 
drained dry when she dies, beloved and regretted at 
three-score years and ten; leaving behind ber one or two 
oid friends who were once her ardent lovers, and wlio 
still cherish her memory as that of the finest and 
most fascinating woman they ever knew — something 
which the present generation is utterly incapable of 
repeating.' 



ADVENTURE WITH A COBRA. 

A CORRESPOXDENT gives the following account of an 
adventure with a cobra di capello, which occurred to 
a gentleman who was reposiug under a tamarind tree 
alone after a day of shooting: 

I was aroused by the furious baying of my dogs ; 
on turning round, I beheld a snake, of the cobra di 
capello species, directing its course to a point that 
would approximate very close upon my position. In 
an instant 1 was upon my feet. The instant the rep- 
tile became aware of my presence, in nautical phrase- 
ology, it boldly brought to, with expanded hood, 
eyes sparkling, n«'ck beautifully arched, the head 
raised nearly two feet from the ground, and oscillating 
from side to side in a manner indicative of a resentful 
foe. I siezed a bamboo, left by one of the bearers, 
and hurled it at my opponent's head. I was fortunate 
enough to hit it beneath the eye. The reptile immedi- 
ately fell from its imposing attitude, aud lay appa- 
rently lifeless. Without a moment's reflection I seized 
it a little below the head, hauled it beneath the shel- 
ter of the tree, aud very coolly sat down to examine 
the mouth for the poisoned fangs of which naturalists 
speak so much. While in the act of forcing the moutu 
open with a stalk, I felt the head gliding through my 
liand, and, to my utter astonishment, became aware 
that I now had to contend against the most deadly of 
reptiles in its full strength and vigor. Indeed, I was 
in a moment convinced of it, for, as I tightened my 
hold of the throat, its body became wreathed round 
my neck and arm. I had raised myself from a sitting 
posture to one knee; my right arm, to enable me to 
exert my strength, was extended. In such an attitude 
I must have appeared horrified enough to represent a 
deity in tlie Hindoo mythology, such as we often see 
rudely emblazoned on the portals of their native tem- 
ples. It now became a matter of self-defence. To re- 



3S0 ADYENTURE WITH A COBRA. 

taia my hold, it required my utmost strength to pre- 
vent the escape of the head, as my neck became a 
purchase for the animal to pull upon. If the reader is 
aware of the universal dread in which the cobra di 
capello is held throughout India, and the almost 
instant death which invariably follows its bite, he 
will, in some degree, be able to imagine what my feel- 
ings were at that moment. A shudder, a faint kind of 
disgusting sickness pervaded my whole frame, as I 
felt the cold, clammy fold of the reptile's body tight- 
ening round my neck. To attempt any deliueation of 
my sensations would be absurd and futile ; let it suffice, 
they were most horrible. I had now almost resolved 
to resign my hold. Had I done so, this tale would 
never liave been written, as no doubt the head would 
have been brought to the extreme circumvolution to 
inflict the deadly woand. Even in the agony of such 
a moraeut, I could picture to myself the fierce glowing 
of the eyes, and the intimidating expansion of the 
hood ere it fastened its venomous and fatal hold upon 
my face or neck. To hold it much longer would be 
impossible. Immediately beneath my grasp there was 
au inward working and creeping of the .^kin, which 
seemed to be assisted by the very firmness with which 
I held it ; my hand was gloved. Finding, in defiance 
of all my efforts, that my hand was each instant 
forced closer to my face, I was anxiously considering 
how to act in this horrible dilemma, when an idea 
struck me that, was it in my power to transfix the 
mouth with some sharp iusirument, it would prevent 
the reptile from using its fangs, should it escape my 
hold of it. My gun lay at my feet ; the ramrod ap- 
peared the very thing required, which, with some 
difficulty, I succeeded in drawing out, having only 
one hand disengaged. My right arm was now tremb- 
ling from over-exertion, my hold becoming less firm, 
when I happily succeeded in passing the rod through 
the lower jaw up to its centre. It was not without 
considerable hesitation that I suddenly let go my hola 
of the throat, and seized the rod in both hands, at the 
same time bringing them over my head with a sudden 
jerk, disengaging the fold from my neck, which had 
latterly become almost tight enough to produce stran- 
gulation. There was then little difficulty in freeing 
my right arm, and ultimately throwing the reptile 
from me to the earth, where it continued to twist and 
writhe itself into a thousand contortions of rau-e and 
agony. To run to a neighboring stream to lave my 
neck, hands, and face in its cooling waters, was my 
first act after dispatching my formidable euemy. 



BRIGHAM TOUNG'S IiIeEjI. SSI 



BRIGHAM YOUNG'S HAREM. 

A PEW steps up Maine street from our hotel, a turn 
to the right, and we see the prophet's harem. The 
grounds occupied by Brigham are inclosed by a high 
wall, laid in cement. An eagle with spreading Avings, 
clutching a beehive in his talons, is mounted over the 
gateway — emblematic of Brigham and the church. 
The main entrance faces the south. The grounds are 
well laid out, and there is an abundance of apple, pear, 
and peach trees. Grape-vines climb the walls and 
hang on trellises. 

At the southwest corner of the grounds is the tithing 
office, where the tenth part of all that is produced in 
the territory passes into Brigham's haads. la rear of 
the tithing office are extensive sheds, where the saints 
find shelter while paying their tithing. Here also are 
several small buildings where Brigham's servants live 
— those employed about the premises. 

A few steps east of the tithing office is a three-storied 
building, standing end to the road, large enough and 
long enough for a factory boarding-house. It has a 
steep, shingled roof, with ten gabled windows on each 
side. On thebalcony over the door is acrouching lion. 

This is the harem. A covered passage leads from 
the ground-floor to another building east, in which is 
the g-eneral business office of Brigham Young, and from 
■which telegraph wires run to every hamlet in the ter- 
ritory Another passage leads to the private office of 
Brigham — back of which is his private bedroom, where 
his concubines wait upon him- Amelia to-day, Eme- 
line to-morrow, Lucy the day after. 

Brigham's lawfully wedded wife was Mary Ann 
Angell — a native of New York— the mother of five 
children — Joseph, or "Joe,'' as he is called at Salt 
Lake, Brigham A., John, Alice, and Luna. She mar- 
ried the prophet while he was a young man, before he 
was a prophet, and witli him accepted the revelations 
of Joseph Smith. She lives in a large stone b jilding 
in the rear of the harem. Brigham does not often visit 
her now. The number of concubines in the harem is 
not known to the Gentile world. One report makes 
the number seventy, another gives only thirty. It is 
probable that the larger number includes those who 
are sealed to Brigham for eternity and not for time. 

His first concubine is Lucy Decker. She is the law- 
ful wife of Isaac Seely, mother of two children ; but 



383 BRIGHAM young's HAREM. 

Brigham could make her a queea in heaven, and so, 
bidding good-bye to Isaac, she became first concubine, 
and has added eight children to the prophet's house- 
hold. 

Her younger sister, Clara Decker, also aspired to be 
a heavenly queen, and became his second concubine, 
and is the mother of four children. 

Miss Tvviss has sandy hair, round features, blue 
eyes, low forehead, freckled face — but as she has no 
children, is not of much account in the eyes of the 
prophet. She looks after his clothes, sews buttons on 
liis shirts, and acts the part ot a housewife. 

Emeline Free, as described by Mrs. Waite, wife of 
one of the United State Judges of the Territory, is the 
" light of the harem," tall, graceful, mild violet eyes, 
fair hair, inclined to curl. She was a lively young 
lady, and Brigham fell in love with her. Her father 
and mother were opposed to polygamy, but Emeline 
had ambitious projects, accepted his proposal, and be- 
came the favorite of the harem. The favor shown her 
brought on a row. The other concubines carried tha 
jealousy to such a pitch tliat the prophet had a pri- 
vate passage constructed from his bedroom to Eme- 
line's room, so that his visits to her and hers to him 
could be made without observation. She has contrib- 
uted greatly to his glory in the future world, by pre- 
senting him with eight children in this. 

Mrs. Augusta Cobb was formerly a Bostonian, be- 
came converted to Mormonism eighteen years ago, left 
her home, and accepted a position in the harem. 

Mrs. Smith, a devout Mormon, wished to be sealed 
to Brigham for eternity, but the prophet did not care 
to make her a heavenly queen. He sealed her to Jo- 
seph Smith for eternity, and to himself for time. 

One "poor unfortunate," Clara Chase, became a 
maniac, and has gone to where the wicked cease from 
troubling. 

Amelia Folsom, a native of Portsmouth, N. H , is 
the mistress of the harem. She'entered it on the'29th 
of January, 1863. She is about nineteen, and the 
prophet sixty-three. She has things pretty much her 
own way — a private box at the theatre, carriage of her 
own, silks, satins, a piano, parlor elegantly furnished. 
If the prophet slights her, she pays him in his own 
coin. 

Such is an outline of this saintly household — thirty 
women or more, and seventy or eighty children. Unles.^ 
human nature is vastly ditferent in Utah from what it 
is in other places, there must be many family jars. 
The outward appearance is of a peaceable and orderly 



THE PHTSICIA-n'S LOVE. 883 

community, hnt if there is a fraction of truth in com- 
moQ report, it is one of the saddest communities in the 
world. 



THE PHYSICIAN'S LOVE. 

CHAPTER I. 

Among the many refugees whom America welcomed 
to her shores during the Reign of Terror, came one 
Rene Davoust, an individual of noble lineage and 
birth, though of but humble fortunes. 

All that the guillotine had spared to this man of 
kith or kin was a little daughter — a frail and lovely 
child of six years, who bore the name of the hapless 
Marie Antoinette — woujan of sorrows unutterable, of 
fortitude sublime. 

Fair as the distinguished namesake, whose blonde 
beauty had oft-time moved her childish soul to de- 
lighted admiration, the little refugee bore yet upon 
her face the memory of the awful sorrow she had 
known — the bloody death of her young mother, 
whom, as the daughter of the marquis, (a nobleman, 
infamous to the people,) no influence, no prayers, no 
intercession could save. 

Truly might the bereaved child have been compared 
to a lovely flower, whose parent stem some rude 
storm had snapped asunder, and, as the thus severed 
blossom, transplanted to a foreign soil, droops and 
fades away from the bloom of life toward the decay of 
death, so this little one found no health or joyousness 
in the land upon whose fair, free shores fate had cast 
her unhappy parent ; but, with eyes always mournful 
with the sorrow of the past, and face pallid and serene 
as that with which her young mother went forth to 
the guillotine, the child seemed meekly bending her 
head to the keen sickle of the reaper. Death — grim ty- 
rant, who, of all mankind, best loveth the young, the 
pure, the fair. Yet, even as the flower transplanted 
may, nurtured by the gardener's tender and skilful 
haud, bloom forth once more in all its former loveli- 
ness, so it was decreed that, at a time when Rene 
Davoust had desparingly resigned himself to the 
thought of his beloved child's dissolution, she was to 
find in one, of whom we will now speak, the healer of 
the subtle decline of her body, and the reviver of the 



384 THE physician's love. 

spirits whicli the companionship of her stern, sorrow- 
ful father, equally with the remembrance of the death 
of her mother, had served so fearfully and unnaturally 
to depress. 

Norman Hope was one of those men who, endowed 
by nature with rare gifts of mind and person, seem 
ever doomed to be the scorn of fortune, wandering 
outside the pale of her golden, enchanted realms, hand 
in hand with that poverty whose chilly fingers, 
clutching the heart of genius, have so often stilled its 
splendid throbbing into silence. 

At thirty years of age, with a profound and erudite 
knowledge of the art of healing in its many branches, 
particularly of that which treats of pulmonary decay, 
(the insidious foe gnawing at the vitals of Davoust's 
child)— with that ardent enthusiasm for his profession 
which is one of the essential characteristics of the true 
physician — with a hand strong and skilful to sever 
the useless limb from the tortured body, soft and ten- 
der to clasp the pulse of agony, and smooth the aching, 
burning brow— with a heart geotle as a woman's, yet 
full of the nobility and strength of manhood — N.a-man 
Hope was poor, friendless, and without any immediate 
prospect of ever being otherwise. 

His practice, in the great city in which he dwelt, 
was among its unfortunate starvelings; these gave 
him their prayers, their blessings, but seldom a lee; 
nor could the young physician find it in his heart to 
press his claims where hunger sat at the board, and 
cold shivered at the hearth-stone. 

By what chance Davoust came to place his child 
under this man's care, at a period when celebrated 
practitioners had pronounced her death verdict, is un- 
known ; but certain it is that, ere the first month of 
bis attendance upon her passed away, the pallor of 
the grave forsook her face, while the pi'cmonitory 
brightness of returning health began to creep into her 
sorrowful, slumbrous eyes. 

Then it was that all the innate brightness and viva- 
city of Norman Hope's nature was brought into play. 
This child, whose life he was to save, needed, little 
less than draught and potion, the companionship of a 
healthy, joyous spirit, and such was his, despite his 
threadbare clothes, and the low state of his finances. 

Pavoust's profound melancholy never left him, and 
communicating itself, as it did, to the little girl, Nor- 
man deemed it best for a while to banish him almost 
entirely from her presence. 

A nurse was procured — a lively, good-natured Hi- 
bernian, who, although at first sorely perplexed by 



iiiFu physician's love, 3S5 

the foreig-a speech of her patient, (who was equally 
perplexed by the loud brogue of her attendant), came 
at length to comprehend the "haythenish languidge," 
and to be able to respond in a manner, ludicrous, it is 
true, but still not unintelligible. 

IS'orman spent three or four hours of each day -with 
the child, and, during these hours, the services of the 
nurse were dispensed with. Then were heard such 
sounds of childish merriment as, reaching Davoust's 
ears, aroused him from the contemplation of his sor- 
rows to thanksgiving for the restoration of hia 
daughter. Norman, always talking, walking, or 
roujpiug with the child, would never allow her 
for a moment to babble of pauvre mere. Having beea 
made acquainted by Davoust with this melancholy 
part of the child's history, it was his study to banish, 
it as much as possible from her memory ; nor did he 
fail so to do, for, though it was not probable that 
Marie would ever forget the mournful fate of her 
mother, she at least ceased to dwell upon its remem- 
brance with the old morbid, despairing grief. 

Thoroaghly conversant with the French language, 
it now became one of his pleasures to instruct the 
child in his own; and who shall say that his heart 
did not swell with prophetic joy when she first lisped 
in his native tongue, " Marie loves you." 

In six months the necessity for his professional 
visits had ceased, but still some part of each day 
fouad him with the young being whom he had res- 
cued from death, and between whom and himself had 
been formed a bond of love never afterward to be 
broken. 

Davoust was too deeply grateful to the saviour of 
his child to look coldly upon this affection ; for, in- 
deed, aside from any sense of gratitude, he had con- 
tracted a warm friendship for the young man — a 
friendship springing from appreciation of his genius, 
pity for his poverty, and love for his geniality of 
humor and kindliness of heart. 



CHAPTER II. 

TwET.VK years had passed away, and still Rene Da- 
voust, though no longer a refugee, lingered upon tiia 
American rihores. 

France was full of deadly memories for him, nor 
could Marie, now upon the verge of womanhood, en- 
dure the thought of a return to the scenes connected 
with the one great sorrow of her life. 

25 



386 THE physician's love. 

"Let us live and die in this beautiful laaa," she 
•would say, " loving it as the country of our adoption, 
even while France is not forgotten, though to think 
of her is to weep." 

Fair young Marie! Promise fulfilled of a childhood 
as lovely as a dream of Heaven! What pen shall 
portray the idolatrous passion witb which Norman, 
whose years rested lighlty on his splendid brow, now 
regarded her. Every pure and holy thougnt of his 
heart was connected with her ; every aspiration of his 
life was for her ; in her " he lived and had his being ; " 
his soul acknowledged her as its angel, and the day 
in which he saw her not was sunless. 

And Marie — was she conscious of this adoration of 
tenderness? As the placid waters of a lake to the 
tempestuous waves of the ocean, so the heart of this 
girl to the heart of the man who loved her ; and, as 
the calm lake-waters, in their inland home, reck not 
of the stormy waves lashing the shores of the woild, 
BO this heart, still throbbing to the music of child- 
hood, knew niiui:ht of the heart whose chords the 
fingers of love were now tiuching into dream-like 
happiness, and now striking into paspioiiale pain. 

The years had not made any material change in the 
physician's worldly affairs. Still fortune mocked 
him ; still the rich knew him not ; still the poor loved 
him. But the sunuy, blithesome spirit was a little 
sombre now. Love had suggested the necessity of 
wealth, thus sowing the seeds of discontent, near 
which joy may not flourish. 

He loved Marie too unselfishly not to hesitate in 
asking her to share a life of toil and privation; and 
this very hesitancy, generous^though it was, nearly 
cost him the happiuess of a lifetime. 

It was impossible that the girl's beauty of person 
and gentleness of demeanor ."hould not attract ad- 
mirers. One there was who beheld her humble home 
as the temple of a goddess, and who, having obtained 
access to the thus idealized abode, did not long delay 
theavowal of a love which, though it bewildered and 
flattered its recipient, had but the^effect of awakening 
her to the knowledge of her hitherto slumbering, yet 
intense, regard for another— that other the Aormau of 
our story. 

No longer, now, might her heart be compared to a 
placid lake, so wildly it throbbed within her bosom. 
The serenity of childhood was gone forever. Love 
had crowned her with the diadem of womanhood, and 
poured its sweet, joyous essence into her young veins. 

But he to wliom this change was due stood sulleniy 



THE physician's LOVE, 387 

aloof, and, 131111(16(1 to tlie truth by the fury of jeal- 
ousy, watchetl gloomily for the hour of his rival's tri- 
umph — a formidable rival, indeed; youug, vrealthy, 
of flue personal appearance, moral, iatelTigent, and 
more than all, firmly determined upon winning the 
heart of the woman he loved, despite her first rejec- 
tion of his suit. 

Thus time passed on, until at length, one morning 
Marie, tortured by bis apparent coldness, (he fre- 
quently absented himself from her presence for weeks 
at a time,) threw herself upon her father's breast, and 
Hmid teai's, sobs, and passionate, incoherent exclama- 
tions, aauonnced her luieation of accepting the hand 
of the man whose alfectioa she might never hope to 
return. 

Then it was that gratitude and friendship triumphed 
over the promptings of pride and ambition. 

That night Davoiist sought Korman. 

"You love Marie," he said, " speakereit be toolate." 

"It is in vain— truly, too late," said the other, 
coldly. "This youug man — this curled darling of 
wealth — has already won the heart I — " 

"JN'omore!" said Davoust. "The child loves you. 
She is mad with the thought that you care not for her." 

"How know you this?" asked Norman, his soul 
vibrating fearfully between hope and despair. 

" Did she not tell me this morning that she means to 
marry the man whom she confesses she does not love ? 
Did she not weep in an agony of shame when I spoke 
of you? Did she not — " 

The speaker was alone. Smiling to himself, he pre- 
pared to follow leisurely the swift footsteps which had 
preceded him. 

"Truly, love is winged!" he said. "Eh,bein! A 
poor marriage for my little Marie the otlier would 
have been. Parbleu! let me not speak of it. What 
do I not owe this good American?" 

In this strain he soliloquized as he wended his way 
homeward, even while Norman, with his young love 
pressed to his heart, was for_'ettiug the hours of 
anguish he had known ; and Marie, with perhaps a 
thought of pity for the lost cause, giving herself up 
to the divine joy of the present, not caring to look be- 
yond. ***** 

Fortune, so long cold to the merits of the man, as if 
wooed by the loveliness of her whom he made his 
wife, smiled at last upon Norman Hope. A few 
years, and wealth and fame were his ; but these his 
heart esteemed not, turning ever for its joy to the 
loves of Home and Heaven 



A Ci^LIFORNIA TARN. 



A CALIFORNIA YARN. 

There is a .fellow over at Groundhog's Glory who 
has a rich claim for sale. Sam Hodgers heard abuat 
it the otlier day aad went over there to see what the 
chances were for making a good bargain, Sam is a 
dissatisfied sort of a fellow, and is always trying to 
buy into >omething rich. So, as I was saying, he 
bulged right over to Groundhog's Gloiy the momeut 
he heard of it. 

When he got there he found that the owner of the 
claim and his wife had gone on a visit to another 
family in the Big Bug Canon. The only person about 
the premises was a small boy about twelve years old. 
From him Sam obtained some information Avhich the 
owner himself might not have communicated. 

Sam went down with the boy and took a look at the 
claim. While he was casting his eyes around, the 
boy sat on the bank and whistled "Oh Gosh ! my own 
Jemima." 

Having finished his survey, Sam went up and sat 
down beside the innocent juvenile. 

"Bub," said he, "I've heard that this is a rich 
claim, and it does look pretty well. Now, to tell the 
honest truth, what does your father want to sell out 
for if it's as rich as they say?'' 

The small boy stopped whistling, cocked his head 
to one side, closed one eye, and squinted thoughtfully 
at Sam with the other. 

"Stranger, have you got half a dollar about you? 
If you have, perhaps I wouldn't mind telling you." 

Sam forked over the half dollar, and the boy loi ked 
at it a moment and whistled, " Get out of the Wilder- 
ness." 

" Well, feller, bein' as it is you, I don't object to 
saying that the reason Dad wants to sell this here 
claim, is 'cause it is too rich." 

"Too rich! Played out," put in Sam. 

"Now, stranger, you jest hold your bosses till I get 
through, an I'll explain it to you. You see this ain't 
like other claims where the gold is in sandy gravel, 
and mostly in the bed-rock, but the bank here is 
nearly all clay, and there's heaps and gubs of fine 
gold all through it. The clay is the allflredest sticki- 
est stufi" that ever wuz, and you can't begin to work 
it. When Dad gets to work down there he naterally 
gets the darned stuflf all over him, and when he 
comes in at night he's jest coated with it about six 



A CALIFORNIA TARN. SS9 

inches deep more or less, and this clay is plum full of 
gold." 

"I don't see that that's any reason for his wanting 
to sell out," interrupted Sam. 

"Well, old hoss, you keep cool and don't get ram- 
pagious, and I'll tell you how it is. When Dad comes 
in at night he's mig'hty tired, but Mam, you see, is 
such an awful economical woman that she don"t like 
to see so much gold wasted as Dad has about him in 
the clay every night, so Mam she allers turns in and 
cleans him up. At first she used to be satisfied with 
scraping him down with a hoe and panuiug him out 
She made lots of money at that He used to pan out 
rich, 1 tell you. But pretty soon Mam got unsatisfied 
'cause it took too long to pan him out every uight, 
and beside>i, she didn't get half the gold T.^e clay 
was so sticky it wouldn't wash good. Then she got a 
string of sluces out in front of the house and put up a 
little hydraulic and used to pipe him olf. Dad was 
dreadful mad about it. You ought to hear him growl 
and cuss. He said it was too wearin' for a man to 
work in the drain all day and then to be worked his- 
self at night. He had to give in, though. Mam said 
he shouldn't board with her if he didn't, and that 
fetched him, you bet. 

"Things ran on in this way for some time. The old 
woman made two or thiee hundred dollars a week 
reg'lar. But as I told you before, she was awful 
savin' and she found she couldn't pipe him off clean, 
and lost ever so much in the lailius. You don't know 
how sticky the clay is around her^-. The only way in 
which you can work it clean is to chuck it into a kittle 
of bilin' water and bile it for two or three hours. 
That's the way the fellow what first struck the claim 
used to work the rich crevices. Mam heerd of this, 
and she thought if she could work the old man in 
some such way, she could save the gold. Of course 
she didn't expect to bile him right down, you know. 
That wouldn't have been exactly on the square, but 
she thought if she could let him stand in the middlin' 
hot water for an hour or two every night, she could 
run him thro' the hydraulic then and wash him off 
pretty clean, 

" Well, stranger, you mightn't think it, but Dad 
was so pesky contrary that he wouldn't do it. Mam 
said he'd got to do it, 'cause she wasn't goin' to see 
money thrown away by no sirch contrariness. Neither 
one of 'em wouldn't give in, so they concluded they'd 
split the difference by letting Dad sell out and go be- 
low and buy a ranch. 



390 GEOLOGY AND THE CREATION. 

" That's jest how it is stranger ; if you ain't married 
and want to buy this claim, you can make a mighty 
good thing out of it, but if you've got a wife she won't 
let you rest for tryin' to work you to good advan- 
tage." 

Here the unsophisticated infant finished and walked 
away, calmly whistling, " I wish I was a Daisy," 
while Sam retired to reflect on the matter, for he was, 
and is, married. 



GEOLOGY AND THE CREATION. 

Mr. J. Scott Moore, an Irish geologist, has just 
published a volume entitled " Pre-Glacial Man; or, 
Geological Chronology." He rega.rds each Mosaic 
"day" as an extended cycle of time, and believes 
that the Lower Miocene epoch commenced about 
1.000,000 years ago, and the Upper Miocene about 
82.5,000 years ago. The Upper Miocene blended with 
the Pliocene about 675,000, and the Pliocene with the 
Post-Pliocene about 3.50,000 years ago. The Post 
Pliocene glacial ej^xxjh gradually crept on about 
350,000 years since, and lasted for 270,000 or 230,000 
years. The recent period of geology succeeded about 
50,000 years ago, and the current period, 6,001 years 
back, viz., at the time of the creation of Adam. H*) 
concluded that j?re-glacial man existed on the earth 
more than 850,000 years ago, and that the^o^i-glacial 
or present man has existed 07ily 70,000 to ^80,000 
years. 



FROM- SHORE TO SHORE. 

Life has been likened unto the passing of a vessel 
from shore to shore, and the artist, in his sketch on 
tlie subject, has given us a beautilul representation, 
true to the various stages of human existence. Time 
is at the oars, a veteran of uncertain age, who, sincg 
the first days of creation, has taken upon liiuiself to 
take charge of all who arrive on this terrestrial sphere. 
And amid storm and shine we find the pilot at his 
post, the passing years having no other effect than to 
give him that mechanical sameness of action supposed 
to be acquired by long practice. With measured 
stroke his oar dips into the sparkling tide of years, 
and were it not that memory will oft revert to the 



FROM SHORE TO SHORE. 391 

paft, oblivion, like the wave, would hide from ns the 
course we have come. 

In the prow of our imaginary barque are two of the 
opposite sexe.s, who have attained that age when we 
first become conscious thai it is impossible for humaa 
kind to live in the present, and with earnest glance 
they are viewing the distant shore. Hope has spread 
its bow in the dim distance, and experience ha«i not yet 
taught them tiie lesson of couteutment. They dream 
of the joys now in bright prospective, thinking little 
and caring less for present necessaries. 

And why should care its shadow cast, 
When darker hours may come at last? 
Why seek to dim hope's first fair light? 
'Twill come full soon — the withering blight. 

With sturdy stroke the boatman has propelled the 
frail barque of human existence o"er a lapse of years, 
aud though experience has been limited, yet the 
zephyrs of time hare left their impress on the heart, 
and childhood, with its imperfect conceptions of life, 
has merged into youth, when the soul goeih forth to 
mate with one of like passions. The gaze has been 
withdrawn from the distance of futurity, the bow of 
promise has come, and now centres upon the one ob- 
ject, the acquisition of which promises all that the 
present and future can desire. The youth has become 
a lover, and she, the object of his affection, has burst 
the bud of the early spring-time, and yielding to love's 
witching spell, Jives only in tlie bliss of the present. 

Little do they care what the futui'e may bring ; 
Life is all flowers and the birds sweetly sing ; 
They hear not the dip of the silent oar 
Wafting them across from shore to shore. 

Youth is lost in the more advanced years of man- 
hood ; hope's first fair bloom has been blunted by 
the realities of life, and by degrees the soul has re- 
sumed its yearning for future things. The maiden be- 
came a wife and mother, and though love forsook not 
its throne, yet the ways of Providence are such that 
the things of this life fail to satisfy the longings of the 
heart. Her trust is in him who has promised to love, 
honor, and cheri.sh, but she has heard the dip of the 
oar, and knoweth that she is fleeting to that bourne 
from whence no traveller reiurneth. And even when 
the heart is given to joy and revelry, the mystical 
bell of conscience will sound as if heard from afar 
upon the waters of life, while the chords of the heart 



S93 FROM SHORE TO SHORE. 

vibrate to the highest and holiest aspirations of hu- 
man kind. 

The mists of imagination rise from off the deep, and 
life becomes like the full-blown rose of the summer, 
which loads the air with its fi'agrance. Does the boat- 
man ship his oars that we may enjoy this blissful 
season? Will he not stop for a brief time, that we 
may pluck off the perfect flowers, and drink in the 
beauty of matured experience ? 

He pauseth not from morn till e'en, 

'Tbo' the day is fair, and life's meads are green ; 

But with steady dip of the silent oar, 

Bears us along from shore to shore. 

Ah ! come we now to the last solemn stage of human 
existence ; and though we look back, aud at times re- 
gret the swift passage of the years, yet we are ueariug 
the shore of the eternal world, and the plashing of the 
waves are as masic to the ear. Conscieuce is hushed 
by the conviction that life has been in accordance with 
the laws of God aud man. White-robed Peace hovers 
o'er, with sweet assurance of eternal life, aud with 
bowed head the voyager exclaims, " Thy will, not 
mine, be done!" 

Has the boatman paused that we may the better be 
prepared to enter the spirit-world? Has anything 
been forgotten or misplaced ? Or can we think of 
aught which, being left undone, must remain undone 
at last? There are times when it seemed as if the 
boatman paused and lay on his oars just previous to 
landing on the other shore, and life is prolonged 
beyond the average of human existence. Tne intellect 
becomes weak, reason totters on its throne, and man, 
yielding to the apathy of old age, once more becomes 
a child in thought and act. 

Aad this is life, with its various changes ; but oft 
the Aagel of Death, obedient to the will of the Master, 
will hover o'er us ; and when the shadow lifts, some 
one of our loved ones is found to have gone on before. 
Mortal eye hath seen nothing beyond this, and though 
human understandiug may pierce the things pertain- 
ing to life, we cannot hope to look beyond the veil of 
human existence. 

When the angel shall come with chilling breath, 
And bid proud mortals robe for death, 
Then may the snul triadly wing its flight 
To that beautifal laud where care is o'er, 
There to dwell in love's eternal light, 
JN'over again to pass from shore to shore. 



ADYEKTISEMENTS. 



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different from any other preparation used for 



ADVEKTISEMENTS. 395 

this purpose, and, when once applied, remains 
fixed and permanent ; and, what is more won- 
derful, it will not wash or rub off. It can only 
be removed with Yioegar or lemon-juice, and is 
warranted not to injure the sliin. This article 
has been in use many years in Europe, and it 
is to this that many of the celebrated Court 
Beauties owe their elegant and apparently natu- 
ral color, so much spoken of and admired. 
The tint can be arranged so as to give the 
faintest blush imaginable, or a deeper color, 
according to the shade desired by the person 
using it. This is the cheapest article in the 
world, as one bottle will last a lifetime. Ladies 
who are naturally pale, whether from sickness 
or any other cause, will find Hunt's Bloom of 
Roses an invaluable acquisition to the toilet. 
The advantage claimed for Hunt's Bloom of 
Roses is, that it gives a beautiful natural color, 
which will not wash or rub off, while its use 
cannot be detected by the closest scrutiny. 
Price $1.18 per bottle, with directions for use. 
Sent by AfaU. Address T. W. Evans, Perfu- 
mer, 41 South Eighth Street, Philadelphia. 

Notice. — Unprincipled persons are trying to imitate 
this celebrated preparation, calling tbeir Avorthless 
trash Hunt's Br.noM of Eoses, thus endeavoring to 
impose on the public. To protect ourselves and our 
customers, we procured letters patent for th s won- 
derful preparation, on the 12th day of August, 1S62, 
and caused the words, HUJN'T & CO., Philadelphin, 
to be blown on each bottle. All others are base and 
worthless counterfeits. Address T. W. Evaus, Per- 
fumer, 41 South Eighth Street, Philadelphia. 

HUNT'S COURT TOILET POWDER. 

A new preparation for beautifying and 
whitening the complexion without injuring the 
skin. It does not rub off, or present the ap- 
pearance of powder. It has been used exclu- 
sively by the Court Beauties of Europe, from 



39') ADVERTISEMENTS. 

•whence it derives its name, giving them that 
fascinating and transparent beauty for which 
they are so celebrated. Price 50 cents per box. 
ISent only by Exi^ress. Address T. W. Evans, 
Perfumer, 41 South Eighth Street, Phila. 



HUHT'u WHITE VIRGIN WAX OF ANTIL- 
LES. 

A new French Cosmetic, for beautifying, 
whitening, and preserving the complexion and 
skin, making it soft, fair, delicate, smooth and 
transparent , curing chapped hands or lips ; re- 
moving pimples, tan, sunburn and freckles 
effectually, warranted. 

This valuable preparation is now offered to 
the ladies of the beau monde as the best and 
most reliable article ever made for beautifying 
the skin and complexion. 

Every lady is in duty bound to appear to the 
best advantage. This is due to her position in 
society, and if, by the aid of a beauti!.er, such 
as the " White Virgin Wax of Antilles," her 
comeliness can be improved, she is doing in- 
justice to herself in not availing herself of it. 

Most of the articles before trie public, claim- 
ing to be '^beautiflers of the skin," etc., etc., 
are composed of mineral compounds, the con- 
stant use of which would result in the total de- 
struction of the skin. Messrs. Hunt & Co. 
guarantee the " White Virgin Wax of Antilles " 
to contain no deleterious ingredients, but, on 
the contrary, may be used as freely as the per- 
son applying it may desire, as it is composed 
entirely of pure White Virgin Wax of the finest 
quality, and cannot possibly injure the skin. 

The Neck, Hands and Arms.— A fair and 
spotless neck, delicate hand, and smooth arm, 
are three things, each of Avhich is what Shake- 



ADVERTISEMENTS. 397 

speare describes a gentle voice to be — " an ex- 
cellent thing' in woman." To clothe the neck, 
arms, and hands with a radiant whiteness, at 
once attractive and permanent, it is only neces- 
sary to use, with due frequency, this unequalled 
preparation. The result is certain, and it indi- 
cates a degree of attention to the niceties of the 
toilet and the personal graces, which the refined 
of both sexes are quick to observe and appreciate. 

Tiie proprietors of the '• White Virgin Wax 
of Antilles " guarantee their article to impart 
that beautiful pearly tint to the face, neck, and 
arms, so much desired by the ladies of taste. 

It renders the most homely attractive, im- 
parting a beautiful lustre to the coarsest com- 
plexion. 

It supplies a want that the fair sex appreci- 
ate, and the daily increasing demand for it 
proves conclusively that the favor it has so 
rapidly attained has the basis of real merit. 

As a toilet accessory, the "White Virgin 
Wax of Antilles " cannot be equalled. It is, in 
fact the "Beautifibk of the Age," and is 
unquestionably the most perfect article of the 
kind used by the elite. 

As a beautifier it is unrivalled, the lustre 
which it imparts to the complexion is some- 
thimr which has long been coveted. 

Every person who has used it accords to it 
the highest praise, and none have ever failed 
to procure a second supply. 

Patented November 5ih, 1863. 

Price 75 cents. Sent only by express. Address 
T. W. Evans, Perfumer, 41 S. 8th street, Fhila. 



HUNT'S DEPILATORY POWDER 

Uproots hair from low foreheads, neck, arms, 
face, or any part of the body in a few min- 
utes, and permanently destroys the hair with- 
out injuring the skin. This Depilatory must 



398 AT)VERTISEME>'TS. 

not be classed with similar articles, many of 
which can be used Avith great cauuon only, on 
account of their deleterious qualities. This 
preparation is prepared by a skilful and scien- 
tific clieiuifet, and is warranted to be the only 
effective depilatory that will destroy superfluous 
hair, without danger or injury to the skin. 
Price one dollar and fifty cents ; sent by mail. 
Address T. W. Evans, Perfumer, 41 South 
Eighth Street, Philadelphia. 

HUNT'S FRENCH TOILET PASTE, 

For eradicating wrinkles, small pox marks, 
removing tan, sunburn, freckles, &c. It cures 
chapped hands or lips, and is warranted to be 
the only genuine preparation in this country 
that will really enamel the skin without injur- 
ing it. Sent by mail for one dollar and fifty 
cents. Address T. W. Evans, Perfumer, 41 
South Eighth Street, Philadelphia. 

HUNT'S BRiriSH BALSAM 

Removes tan, freckles, pimples, sallowness, all 
roughness and eruptinns of tlie skn, making 
the complexion soft, fair, (lelicMie, and smooth. 
This preparation is nianula;tu!-(ju fi-oin the 
receipt of an eminent piiysiciaii, and is the 
only reliable article known that will really 
remove freckles without injuring the skin'. 
The immense sale we have for this preparation 
will aloue attest its superior value for eradica- 
ting the worst kind of freckles, &c. Price 50 
cents per bottle, with directions for use. Snd 
only by express. Address T. W. Evans, Perfu- 
mer, 41 South Eighth Street, Philadelphia. 

HUNT'S IMPERIAL POMADE FOR THE HAIR 

Strengthens and improves its growth, keeps it 
from falling olf, and warranted to make the 
hair curl after a few applications. Used by the 



ADVERTISEMENTS. o99 

Court Beauties of London and Paris. Price 
One Dollar per box. Sent only by Express. Ad- 
dress T. W. Evans, Perfumer, 41 South Eightli 
Street, Philadelphia. 

HUNT'S PEARL BEAUTIFIER, 

For the Teeth and Gums ; Cleanses the Teeth 
and Gums, Sweetens the Breath, and effectually 
prevents Toothache. Price 50 cents per box. 
Sent only hy Exjjress. Address T. W. Evans, 
Perfumer, 41 South Eighth Street, Phila. 

HUNl'S MAGIC HAIR TONIC, 

For reproducing the Hair on Bald Heads, stimu- 
lating the growth of Whiskers and Mustaclies, 
preventing the hair from falling off, and restor- 
ing gray and diseased hair to its original color. 
This wonderful article is the irreatest discovery 
of the age. One bottle will prevent premature 
baldness, and make the hair thick and healthy. 
Persons who have been bald for years, are now 
enjoying a fine head of hair by using this tonic. 
It wiU cause Whiskers and Mustaches to grow 
thick and bushy in a short time. Out of hun- 
dreds of articles sold for this purpose, this is 
the only genuine preparation that will really 
restore hair on bald heads. Price 50 cents per 
bottle. Se7it only by Express. Address T. W. 
Evans, Perfumer, 41 S. Eighth Street, Phila. 

EVANS' lOILET GEMS. 

The new fashionable sensation for dressing 
the hair. Consisting of Dia.mond, Emerald, 
Ruby, Gold and Silver Powders ; these gems 
are sprinkled in the hair after dressing it, and 
present a chaste and brilliant appearance. For 
balls, pai-ties, and social gathering, the effect 
is dazzling in the extreme. 

Sample boxes sent by mail for f 1.18. Address 
T. VV. Evans, Perfumer, 41 S. 8th Street, Phila. 



400 ADVERTISEMENTS. 



SPECIAL NOTICE. 

These celebrated Toilet Preparations arc sold 
by most first-class druu-g-ists and fanc}- stores. 
Ask 3^our druggist to get the articles for you if 
he has not got them on stock, as it will save the 
expense of postage or exprcssage, or they can 
be ordered through any wholesale or notion 
liousein Philadelphia, New York, or Baltimore. 
Where persons are desirous of having any arti- 
cle forwarded direct, we will send it by next 
mail or express, on receipt of the advertised 
price. Where orders are to the amount of §5 
or over, we will send package C. O. D. by ex- 
press, if required. 



HOW TO SEND REMITTANCES. 

A Post-office order, or registered letter, is a 
very convenient method of sending small sums, 
which will come at our risk; larger sums can 
be sent by express. We find, however, no dit- 
ficulty or want of security in sending money 
throuirh the mail. Our arrangement with the 
Post-office makes it scarcely possible that any 
loss can occur. 

We take U. S. Postage or Internal Revenue 
Stamps iu large or small amounts. All orders 
should be addressed T. W. Evans, Perfumer, 
41 South Eighth Street, Philadelphia, Peuna. 

Patent Metallic Eye Brow Pencils for pencil- 
ing the eyebrows, sent by mail for 50 cents. 
Addres** T, W. Evans, Perfumer, No. 41 South 
Eighth Street, Philadelphia. 



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